






I LIB RARY OF CONGRESS. ! 



, | UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 































































* 




























“We Three/' 







Page 3. 


\ 







WE THREE 


•p 

KATE W. HAMILTON, 

i 

AUTHOR OF 


u CHINKS OP CL ANN Y FORD,” “ GREYCLIFF,” (< SHADOW OF THE 
ROCK,” ETC., ETC. 




PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 

% 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


V 




Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Phila. 


We Three. 


CHAPTER I. 

T was a winter afternoon, snow lying on the 
ground and the sun sinking in the west, a 
great red ball that seemed to give out no 
warmth, though its rays lit up beautifully 
the fringe of icicles that decked the front of 
the old shed where we had gathered, Philip, Robert 
and I. Outside was the little old farmhouse ; 
then the long stretch of snow, the grove with its 
bare, leafless trees standing like a disarmed and 
bannerless host ; and farther off the great hills be- 
hind which the sun was setting. Inside was the 
pile of wood for the winter’s use, and Phil leaning 
back against it. Rob was balancing himself on 
the saw-horse, his elbows on his knees, his chin 
between his hands ; while I stood at one side of the 
building, carelessly striking my hatchet into one of 
the old posts that had been marred and hacked 
with so many hatcnet-blows before. We had gone 
out to saw and carry in the evening’s wood, but had 



4 


WE THREE. 


forgotten our work to have a talk — a long, serious 
talk for such boys as we were. 

“You see,” Phil said, pushing up with the toe 
of his boot the chips that lay at his feet, “ it’s got 
to be done someway. There’s nobody left now but 
us, and we must take care of grandmother and 
Agnes, we three.” 

I looked into his brave blue eyes, and replied 
innocently yet pointedly enough with the single 
little word that represents so many a weary and 
terrible problem in our human lives : “How?” 

Phil could not answer. It took the long years 
that were coming to do that. 

It was just four months since Uncle Mark had 
left the printing-office to stay at home for a little 
while. He had struggled for a long time with 
the oppressive weakness that made his steps so lan- 
guid and his hand so tremulous ; but it was not to 
be conquered, and so, though not until necessity 
had usurped the place of choice, he left the office. 

“ I think it is working in that close room and 
the warm weather together that are doing it,” he 
said. “ It will do me good to be out of doors, and 
I can work here at home, mending gates and fences, 
and doing whatever about the place needs to be 
done, and so have it all in good order by the time 
the weather gets cooler and I’m strong enough to 
go back.” 

But setting the place in order did not progress 
very rapidly. A few attempts at something of the 


WE THREE. 


5 


kind resulted only in the postponement of what 
was undertaken “ for a day or two,” until he should 
feel a little stronger — always but “for a day or two.” 
Still the long, summer days slipped by and brought 
no strength with them. Grandmother always found 
some good reason why it should be so, however. 
It had been so warm, or there had been a storm, or 
he had taken a slight cold. “ I think you’d have 
been a good deal better but for that,” she would 
say, and then set herself vigorously to preparing 
some new compound of strengthening roots and 
herbs that she was sure would do him good. 

But she grew troubled and anxious at last. The 
teas were set aside as useless, and she insisted that 
a physician should be consulted. It could not do 
any good, Uncle Mark said ; he was “ not suffering, 
only weak.” Yet he yielded to her wishes, and 
old Dr. Graylie came. He knew his patient — that 
he was neither child nor coward, and that he must 
know the whole truth. So he told him how his 
life had been going in this gradual loss of strength 
that had been so painless, and in the slight cough 
that had seemed scarcely worth attending to, and 
now there w r as no hope — told it gravely and kindly, 
but without any reservations or holding out of pos- 
sible chances. After he had gone Uncle Mark sat 
long, I remember, looking out of the western win- 
dow toward the glowing sky. I watched him with 
something of awe, wondering in my dreamy, boy- 
ish way how it must feel to be so shut awav from 


8 


WE THREE. 


life and have this gloomy barrier raised between 
him and those who loved and needed him ; to have 
the long years that seemed to be coming with all 
their busy plans and purposes so suddenly struck 
away, and to know that he should not see them — 
that only a few more weeks of this earthly life were 
left him. I longed to know, yet dared not ask, of 
what he was thinking in that silence. When he 
turned his eyes from the sunset again, the old 
peaceful calm had come back to them, as if he had 
accepted whatever lay before him. Yet he smiled 
a little sadly as he met my glance, and looked at 
Phil and Rob. 

" It will come hard for you, boys, I am afraid ; 
but I can’t help it now. You must do the best 
you, can and trust in God. He will make every- 
thing right,” he said, slowly. 

Brave, unselfish Uncle Mark ! He had done his 
best for his widowed mother and his sister’s or- 
phaned children ; and whatever struggles might be 
before us, there was indeed no hardship in our 
path that he could have helped. He did not talk 
much in those weeks of what lay just before him. 
He was silent usually where his own deepest feelings 
were concerned, and grandmother was like him in 
that. She had grown pale, I remember, and went 
about very quietly, only keeping such a tender, 
careful watch over him and striving to anticipate 
his every wish. She was not one to sit down to 
tears and lamentations, as many would have done. 


WE THREE. 


7 


She took up whatever burden must needs be borne 
and carried it as best she might, but always si- 
lently, telling her sorrow to God only, seeking 
sympathy from him alone. Yet as the days passed 
she lingered more and more by Uncle Mark’s side, 
so unwilling to go out of his sight that the thought- 
ful Agnes noticed it and quietly took upon herself 
as much as possible all duties that would call her 
away. Grand mother’s glance was always wandering 
toward him, whatever she was doing, and their eyes 
met often, his with the steady smile in them, and 
hers patient but very sad, though it seemed to 
me toward the last that his had looked some of 
their own peace into hers. 

The end came with the sharp cold of the early 
winter days, and we laid him to sleep under the 
first pure white snow — the first snow, that always 
to me in my brief boy-life before had appeared 
hurrying, frisking down, filled with visions of sled- 
riding, snow-balling and the merry Christmas- 
time; but has fallen in no winter since without 
bringing a thought of a new-made grave in a 
little village churchyard which it seems softly, 
tenderly, covering up. Nature grows into our 
lives, into our very souls, so ! I have read some- 
where of physicians having found upon the body 
of one killed by lightning a perfect photograph 
of the tree through which the shaft had passed to 
reach him. Branch, twig and leaf were faithfully 
reproduced. So some sorrows seem to imprint 


8 


WE THREE. 


upon the soul the surroundings through which 
they strike. We may not notice at the time if the 
day be bright or dark, if the flowers are still 
blooming or all nature has grown dark with our 
gloom ; but when the changing seasons have brought 
the sunlight to shine on the same spot, the leaves 
throw just the same shimmering shadows on the 
old path, and the soft air comes again with its pe- 
culiar odor of clover or violet, we thrill and trem- 
ble and live over and over in thought the time 
that is dead and gone. That peculiar phase of 
nature, whatever it may be to all the world beside, 
brings to us ever the picture of which it was once 
the setting, and makes such days on through all 
the years haunted days to us. 

The wind blew drearily through the snow-laden 
pines that day, and mingled its voice in the brief 
prayer. It was the only audible moan which broke 
the silence that followed; and then we turned 
homeward. I remember pausing for a moment at 
the door and stealing a glance into the front room, 
which bustling little Mrs. McKenzie had hurried 
herself to put in order while we were gone — that 
is, she had ranged the chairs stiffly back against 
the wall and rolled the table which had so lately 
held our dead loved one into its accustomed place. 
But despite the bright fire she had kindled, it all 
looked to my troubled eyes strange and gloomy. 
Several persons were there talking with my grand- 
mother and Agnes, and I stole away to the more 


WE THREE. 


9 


familiar kitchen, into which the sunlight streamed, 
and where my grandmother’s plants bloomed in the 
window. I drew something like a breath of relief 
as I saw them, and felt for a moment as if I had 
escaped from some cold, dark prison into a warm, 
bright, living world once more. 

Mrs. McKenzie and another neighbor, Mrs. 
Stetson, were standing by one of the windows 
talking together, and did not seem to notice me as 
I drew a low chair to the fire. 

“ Yes, that’s what McKenzie says. It’s just the 
place, and nothing else,” the little woman was say- 
ing, earnestly. 

“ Well, now — I do think — Why, it’s like — 
like — Ain’t it, now?” responded Mrs. Stetson, 
not very lucidly. 

Such fragmentary attempts at a remark were a 
peculiarity with her ; she seemed always endeavor- 
ing to say something that she never could get fairly 
out, and usually accompanied the effort with a ges- 
ture not unlike that of one trying to brush away a 
troublesome fly. 

“ It’s a pretty big garden-patch, to be sure, but it 
ain’t big enough to be worth anything for a farm,” 
continued Mrs. McKenzie; “and besides, there’s 
nobody to work it if it was.” 

“ Well, now, I should think — It seems to me — 
But then I don’t know either and having scattered 
so many words from her lips by dint of vigorous 
brushing, Mrs. Stetson paused with a little shake 


10 


WE THREE. 


of her head, as if trying to loosen something that 
still stuck in her throat. 

“ There was some money in the bank, you see, 
but then he’s had to be drawing it out until there 
isn’t but a little left; husband says he knows there 
can’t be. I’m so sorry I don’t know what to do, 
and I told him so this morning when he was talk- 
ing about it,” Mrs. McKenzie w r ent on, too much 
absorbed in her subject and accustomed to her lis- 
tener to notice or care that the conversation was one- 
sided. “ It will come real hard, and none of the 
children being grown up or anything.” 

“ Yes, it is so — It does seem like — Well, it is 
sad. Why, it would have been more — that is, a good 
deal better,” ventured Mrs. Stetson, uncertainly. 

“ If he could have left something ? To be sure it 
would ; but then he wasn’t to blame, poor dear ! 
He did the best he could ; every one that knew him 
will say that. But you see being sick so long cost 
a good deal, and there’s quite a number to take care 
of ; and after he left the printing-office there was 
nothing coming in.” 

The sorrow and excitement of the day must some- 
what have bewildered me, I think, for not until the 
printing-office was mentioned did I comprehend 
that they were talking of Uncle Mark — of us. 
Almost at the same moment Mrs. McKenzie dis- 
covered me, and with an expressive nod to Mrs. 
Stetson suddenly dropped the conversation. The 
latter lady left the room presently, and Mrs. 


WE THREE. 


11 


McKenzie after a moment came and stood beside 
me. 

“ Now, Winford, don’t fret, dear, don’t ! It can’t 
do any good, you know ; and besides, it is not right. 
Oh, dear ! it is hard — it just is ! I am sorry for you 
as ever I can be, but you must try and do the best 
you can, and grow up to be as good a man as your 
uncle,” she said, patting my shoulder with her fat 
hand, while the tears rolled down her plump cheeks. 

Neither her words nor her manner would have 
answered for a model of elegant condolence, I sup- 
pose, yet they convinced me of her earnest sympa- 
thy and made their way into my boyish heart as 
many a more eloquent and careful remark upon the 
universality of affliction and the duty of resigna- 
tion would have failed to do. 

The people who had come home with us went 
away, lingering a little and going one by one, as if 
not willing to leave us to the strange loneliness that 
death brings to a family circle ; but at last all were 
gone, and we were alone. Agnes closed up the 
front room then, and came out with a little shiver, 
as if she had a feeling something like mine about 
it, and we all gathered in the large pleasant kitchen 
as we were wont to do. No, not all — that never 
could be again ; yet now that we were alone and 
the strange faces gone, it was hard to realize that 
such a change had really come. The room had 
just its usual cosy, home-like air. The cheerful 
fire throwing gleams of light on the yellow-painted 


12 


WE THREE. 


floor, the little round stand with its few books, the 
homely, easy rocking-chair, the tall, old-fashioned 
clock in the corner with its steady, monotonous tick, 
— all were as in the olden time, the time that was 
ended and gone beyond our reach for ever. I grew 
bewildered trying to comprehend it, and stole a 
glance at the others to see if I could read their 
faces. We were sitting silently, Phil gazing thought- 
fully into the fire, Agnes turning somewhat absent- 
ly the leaves of the old Bible, and grandmother — I 
started as if it were almost sacrilege that she had 
taken up her knitting. Poor grandmother ! I think 
she had borne as long as she could the enforced 
idleness that seemed to make the weight press still 
more heavily upon her burdened heart, and now she 
sat with swiftly-moving needles knitting in — who 
shall say what thoughts and memories? 

“ Shall I not stay with you to-night, grand- 
mother?” Agnes asked, pausing a moment, lamp 
in hand, as we were about separating for the night, 
and looking back as if unwilling to leave the dear 
grandparent. 

She looked up, a little surprised at first : 

“ Why, dear, Pm well, you know. No, I don’t 
need any one. Good-night.” 

So Agnes went away and left her, and she passed 
the night alone, a widow, and bereft of the last of 
her children now. But whatever of bitter conflict 
and terrible sorrow the hours held He only knew 
who passed alone through Gethsemane, with none 


WE THREE. 


13 


even of his best beloved to “ watch with him one 
hour.” 

In our little room that night I told Phil of the 
conversation I had overheard concerning our cir- 
cumstances. 

“ Do you suppose it is true ?” I asked, in conclu- 
sion, for he had listened without a word. 

“Yes,” he answered, slowly. “I never thought 
about it before, but it is true. I know it must be. 
Uncle Mark had a few hundred dollars in the 
bank — I don’t know just how much ; but you 
know he has been sick a good while, and all the 
time we’ve been living off it, and doctor’s bills to 
pay, and everything. I expect we are poor enough 
now.” 

“ But, Phil,” said I, earnestly, “ what shall we 
do about it?” 

“I don’t know,” he answered, a little trouble 
stealing into his voice. “We will have to think 
about it and find out.” 

He certainly did think about it that night ; and 
largely mingled with boyish hopefulness as his 
thoughts were, they somewhat disturbed his slum- 
bers, for I awakened at midnight to find that he 
had not slept. He was the oldest of us boys, my 
senior by little more than a year, and I felt great 
confidence that somehow he would think the mat- 
ter all out straight. 

We had been talking the subject all over that 
evening, out in the old shed, four days after Uncle 


14 


WE THREE. 


Mark’s funeral, discussing our slender resources, 
the place and its capabilities. It had beema farm 
at one time away in the past, but the ground had 
been sold a little at a time as the village grew up 
around it, until now there was nothing left but the 
house, small and old-fashioned, but comfortable, 
the yard and garden, and a little strip of grove 
besides. 

“ That is all, and so we boys will have to earn 
our own living now, and take care of grandmother 
and Agnes,” said Phil, soberly. 

Even Rob’s face wore an expression as nearly 
serious as so merry a face could wear, and for once 
he was not whistling. 

“ Well, what can we do?” he asked, after a brief 
pause, during which he had been meditatively 
knocking his heels against the saw-horse. 

“ I can’t tell yet. I expect there’ll be some way 
to do it, though, and we must be ready to look 
after anything that comes up.” 

“ I don’t believe there will anything come up 
unless we plant it,” responded Rob, doubtfully, 
his thoughts evidently running in the direction of 
the garden. 

Phil laughed : “ Oh, I wasn’t meaning that sort 
of thing. I rather guess you’re right about it in 
more ways than that, though, for I don’t believe 
anything will come up for us anywhere unless we 
do something to start it ; and that’s what I mean 
to try to do. We’ll have to think about it, and 


WE THREE. 


15 


not have our heads full of nothing but school and 
fun, just as we always have before.” 

Phil glanced as he spoke toward one side of the 
shed, where was quite an armory of wooden pistols, 
swords and guns which we had manufactured to 
use on pretended hunting and scouting expeditions. 
My eyes followed Phil’s, and I experienced a sud- 
den feeling of responsibility and added manliness, 
mingled with a queer pang of regret, as I reflected 
that such things would be quite too childish for us 
thereafter ; we should have more important affairs 
to think of with a family on our hands. 

Agnes’ voice broke in upon our discussion. 
“ Come, boys ; supper is ready,” she called, stand- 
ing for a moment on the steps with the open door 
behind her, making a background of light and 
warmth for her slender black-robed figure. She 
was the oldest of us all, somewhat over eighteen 
then ; a quiet, thoughtful girl, with large gray eyes 
shaded by long dark lashes, a face almost too color- 
less for perfect health, and soft dark-brown hair 
drawn smoothly back from her forehead. A sister 
well worth taking care of, I thought, glancing to- 
ward her. Rob and I gathered up the armfuls of 
wood we had sawed, while Phil hastily finished 
splitting the kindling, and we hurried into the 
house, becoming suddenly conscious that our hands 
and feet had become very cold while we talked. 

That evening, when we read our Bible chapter 
as usual, Agnes chose the first of Joshua. Her 


16 


WE THREE . 


clear voice, pure enunciation and the readiness 
with which she seemed to catch the spirit of what 
she read made it pleasant to listen to her always. 
But this chapter had a peculiar interest for us : 

“ Moses, my servant, is dead ; now therefore 
arise, go over this Jordan, thou and all the people. 

. . . As I was with Moses, so I will be with 
thee; I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. 

“ Only be thou strong* and very courageous. . . . 
This book of the law shall not depart out of thy 
mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and 
night, that thou mayest observe to do according to 
all that is written therein ; for then thou shalt 
make thy way very prosperous, and then thou shalt 
have good success. 

“Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and 
of a good courage ; be not afraid, neither be thou 
dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee, 
whithersoever thou goest.” 

Phil and I looked at each other. 

“ I shouldn’t think Joshua could have feared • 
anything after that,” remarked Phil. 

“ I think he had great need to be strong and of 
good courage, though,” said Agnes, thoughtfully, 
closing the book. “Just think of it! He had 
always looked to Moses before, and relied upon 
him to command and direct every movement, to 
inquire of God and control the people. And now 
the great leader that had been with them so long 
was suddenly taken away, and he was left with all 


WE THREE. 


17 


this great people on his hands, questioning, rebel- 
lious and restless as they always were. The Jor- 
dan was before him to be crossed — perhaps he 
scarcely knew how then — and beyond it was the 
land which they were only to make their home by 
meeting its inhabitants in battle and driving them 
out. I suppose Joshua hardly felt sure of either 
himself or his people then.” 

“ But after the promise he could feel secure of 
his God, and that was of vastly more importance — 
the only thing that was of any consequence, in- 
deed,” said grandmother, slowly. “ Feeling sure 
of one’s self was no security for safe entrance 
into the promised land then, nor ever has been 
since.” 

“ I liked that chapter, Win ; someway, it seemed 
as if it was meant for us,” said Phil as we mounted 
the stairs that led to our little room. 

“Yes,” I answered, and fell asleep with the 
words still in my mind : “ Be thou strong and 
very courageous.” 

2 


CHAPTER II. 


AVING made up one’s mind to do some- 
thing heroic, one naturally wishes to be 
about it, and the substitution of common 
things is not exactly agreeable. I had 
formed a vague idea of entering imme- 
diately upon some great undertaking, I scarcely 
knew what, and our starting to school again on 
Monday morning like ordinary boys was a disap- 
pointment. Even Phil asked, a little doubtfully, 

“Shall we go, grandmother?” 

“ Surely ; why not ?” she answered, adding, after 
a moment’s pause, “ It may be only a little while 
that you can go, and it is best to make the most of 
what time you have.” 

It was the only wise and sensible course, cer- 
tainly, that while there was- nothing else for us to 
do we should make the most of our time at school. 
We saw that at once, and began silently gathering 
up our books. We had said nothing to grand- 
mother about our resolves and plans, nor had she 
spoken to us in any way of the state of our affairs 
and the circumstances in which Uncle Mark’s 
death had placed us. Perhaps she thought we 
would learn soon enough, and that it would be time 
18 



WE THREE. 


19 


to talk of it when there was something for us to 
do. 

“ Don’t see how going to school is going to earn 
any money or help take care of anybody/’ said 
Rob, taking particular pains to walk out of the 
beaten path and into the deepest snow as we went 
down through the garden. “ An education is a 
good thing/’ he continued, oracularly, “but I’m 
sure I care enough for Agnes and grandma to be 
willing to give up school to keep along.” 

Both Phil and I laughed. Bob was not over- 
whelmingly fond of school at any time, and had 
always been willing to make a similar sacrifice 
upon the slightest provocation. 

“Well, what are you laughing at?” he asked, 
reddening. 

“ Nothing ; only you have been ready to do as 
much as that for the sake of playing ball or going 
fishing any time,” Phil answered, rather provok- 
ingly. 

“What of it?” said Bob, indignantly. “Of 
course I like fun as well as anybody — I never said 
I didn’t — but stopping out a day now and then is 
a different thing from giving up getting an educa- 
tion altogether, I should think.” 

“ I don’t mean to do that, anyway,” said Phil, 
quietly, the flash of mischief fading out of his eyes 
and a more thoughtful look coming back to them. 
“ I don’t see any need of it.” 

“ Humph !” ejaculated Bob, discontentedly, and 


20 


WE THREE. 


I looked up, not quite understanding Phil’s mean- 
ing. 

“ Going to school isn’t the only way of learning 
anything, is it?” he asked, catching my glance. 
“ Almost anybody can find some time to read and 
study if he wants to, even if he does have to work. 
It would be a queer idea not to try to learn any- 
thing more if we have to leave school. I mean to 
know all I can, anyhow.” 

“ Ho !” exclaimed Nat McKenzie, catching the 
last words as he and his brother met us at the gate ; 
“ you’ll be a smart fellow if you know some of the 
lessons we’ve got to-day, I can tell you. Why, even 
Dan couldn’t get ’em,” with a comical sidelong 
glance at his brother. 

“ No,” said Dan, slowly ; “ someway, I couldn’t 
get ’em into my head. The more I remembered 
’em, the more I couldn’t study ’em straight ; and 
when I shut up my book and said ’em all over to 
myself, I didn’t know a word of ’em.” 

“ Yes, that was just the way of it,” laughed Nat. 
“ I knew it was no use for me to try after that, so I 
just made myself comfortable and went out sliding. 
Say, Phil, do you know the lessons, though, you 
and Win?” 

“We don’t even know where they are. How 
should we, when we haven’t been to school for a 
week ?” I answered, a little shortly. I thought 
he might have remembered. 

“ Oh, I forgpt,” he exclaimed, apologetically, his 


WE THREE . 


21 


face growing suddenly sober ; and we walked on for 
a few moments in silence, Nat not knowing how to 
express his boyish sympathy, and the slow, good- 
natured Dan, as usual, not comprehending what we 
were talking about until some time after we had 
done talking. 

" Oh, I know — about your Uncle Mark,” he sud- 
denly burst out after we had walked on some dis- 
tance. 

“ Hush, Dan !” interposed Nat. 

“ Everybody’s real sorry,” said the kind-hearted 
Dan, fishing in the depth of his pocket for some- 
thing like consolation, and drawing out three rosy 
apples. “ Here, take these. I don’t want ’em, and 
we’ve got lots more at home.” 

We reached the school-house; it was no stately 
edifice of stone or brick, with numerous rooms and 
many teachers. It was a low frame building stand- 
ing in the edge of a grove of pines and containing 
only the little ante-room where a goodly array of 
caps, tippets, hoods and shawls, with a sprinkling 
of dinner-baskets and pails, already decorated the 
pegs, and the school-room beyond. A good-sized 
room was this last, with the teacher’s raised plat- 
form and table at one end, and opposite to it the 
rows of clumsy wooden desks and benches carved 
in many a “ quaint device” by experimenting jack- 
knives. 

Quite a group were gathered around the old stove 
when we entered, and after a little, engineering we 


22 


WE THREE. 


crowded our way into the circle of warmth. Two 
or three of the older scholars moved aside a little 
as I drew near them and made room for me, while 
some of the girls looked up with a glance of sym- 
pathy. Then the stream of talk went on again, 
and as I listened to animated discussions concerning 
snow-ball battles and the relative speed of sleds it 
seemed to me that I must have grown a great deal 
older in the week I had been away. 

The bell suddenly scattered the talkers, and we 
hurried away to our respective desks. Phil and I 
sat together, and presently the teacher, passing up 
the aisle, stopped beside us. He was not one who 
held his office from any great love of it. It was 
merely an enforced pause in his own studies to 
secure the means of pressing onward, and he felt 
far more interest in his own future as a member of 
the bar than in developing any genius in the young 
ideas under his charge. Still, if he neither felt nor 
awakened any enthusiasm in regard to the school, he 
was too honest to be consciously unfaithful, and was 
tolerably patient and kind — very kind — to us that 
day as he stopped and talked for a moment or two, 
showing his sympathy more by his tone and man- 
ner than by his words. He told us what ground 
our classes had been over while we were away, and 
added that if we chose to look it over that day, 
instead of reciting, we could do so. 

“ I would like to,” said Phil, quietly. “ I would 
like to study up.” 


WE THREE . 


23 


He did study, going to work with a steady earn- 
estness that it seemed to me I had never seen in 
him before, not even beguiled into admiring glances 
by the wonderful machinery of empty spools and 
old clock-wheels that Nat McKenzie had slyly set 
in motion under his desk, and only looking up with 
a smile when Dan startled the history class with 
the announcement, made in his slow way, 

“Guatimozin fought against Cortez — no, it was 
Cortez faught against Guatimozin — and tried to take 
away all his gold, when he hadn’t any ; and he 
wouldn’t tell where it was, and at last they took 
Mexico prisoner and burned him to death on a bed 
of roses.” 

I tried for a little while, rather fitfully, to imitate 
Phil’s example, and then I allowed my thoughts 
to wander away from the printed pages before me 
to all sorts of vague, impossible projects for the 
coming years. I vibrated uncertainly between 
studying up in the attic late at night and becoming 
a great inventor, or starting off alone with all my 
worldly goods tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, to 
reappear a little later as a merchant-prince, after the 
manner of self-made men. Before the afternoon 
closed I had almost decided in favor of the former 
as having really the greatest glory of achievement 
in it. Meanwhile, my lessons had not progressed 
much. It is so much easier to be a grand hero a 
little way in the future, than to be entirely faithful 
in the present. 


24 


WE THREE. 


As the days passed on life assumed more and 
more its old routine. At home, indeed, we could 
not forget the change, the loss that was so con- 
stantly felt, but at school, among the boys, it was 
not easy to realize that things were very different 
from what they had been — always to remember 
that there was any new motive for being diligent 
now, because our time there might be shorter than 
we had once thought. I should have been very 
fur from doing so but for Phil, but he, always 
resolute in what he undertook, still studied per- 
se veringly. 

“Goes at it as if he was a famine and every 
book a bag of corn,” remarked Nat McKenzie. 
“ You’ll have to take care, Dan, or he’ll get ahead 
of you.” 

Dan meditated over this for several minutes, 
until his brother had almost forgotten it, and then 
exclaimed, 

“ Why, he ain’t in any of my classes. He’s in 
higher ones than I am ; ain’t you, Phil ?” 

“ I ought to be, anyway,” Phil answered, laugh- 
ing ; “ I’m a year the oldest.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if you wasn’t,” said Dan, 
pondering the subject. “ I don’t grudge anybody’s 
getting everything they can and a good deal more, 
too, if they only get it honest,” he added, truth- 
fully enough, for envy was something that Dan 
did not know. 

Saturday came again, a day at home. There 


WE THREE. 


25 


were errands to do for grandmother, groceries to 
be procured, though not as many as usual. The 
list of articles to be sent for had been gradually 
growing smaller for weeks now, I remembered, with 
a ready guess as to the cause. Then there was 
wood to be split and sawed for the coming week, 
for we did not find much time for it at night, it 
grew dark so early. 

“ Work enough to do, such as it is,” I com- 
mented, in rather a dissatisfied way, comiug home 
from the store and finding Phil busy in the old 
shed. 

“ It’s work that must be done, anyhow,” he an- 
swered, quietly. 

“ Yes, only it don’t seem as if it paid particu- 
larly well or amounted to anything after -it is 
done,” I said, slowly taking down my saw from the 
nail where it hung. 

“ You make a first-rate Joshua, only you want 
your Jordan just exactly in front of you, and the 
enemies you mean to conquer to make their ap- 
pearance before breakfast,” said Phil, laughing 
good-naturedly. 

“ If anything has got to be done, I want to do 
it,” I replied. “ I don’t like to wait.” 

“ Neither do I.” He stopped and looked at 
me. “I do wish we knew just what to do and 
how to do it, Win.” 

It was our first lesson in waiting ; and there come 
so many long waitings into life! It was not much 


26 


WE THREE . 


wonder that we were not apt pupils at first ; it is 
hard to be so even at last. 

“ We might start off somewhere,” I said, rather 
vaguely. 

“That sort of thing does very well for boys in 
newspapers, but it will not do for us,” answered 
Phil, decidedly. “We have a home and folks in it 
whom we care for, and we want to do something 
here to help along.” 

That was true enough. It was easy to see what 
would not answer, but all our talking brought us 
no nearer to anything that would. 

Agnes came running out with a little basket in 
her hand. 

“ My fire went almost out before I noticed it,” 
she said. “ I want just a few chips to start it 
with.” 

“Agnes,” said Phil, prompted by some sudden 
impulse, “ what shall we do, Win and Rob and 
I?” 

“ Do ? About what ?” 

“About earning money. We are poor, ain’t 
we ?” 

“ Yes, I suppose we are,” she answered, slowly. 
“At least, we haven’t much money, now that we 
are not earning any.” 

“ Not enough for us to live on ?” 

“ No, not enough to last us very long, I am 
afraid, unless we can earn some more,” she said, a 
little trouble in her voice. “ I did not know that 


WE THREE. 


27 


you knew anything about it, though. Did grand- 
mother tell you ?” 

“ No ; we found it out.” 

“Well, I suppose it is just as well.” 

“ Of course it is,” Phil interrupted. “ We’d 
have had to know pretty soon, anyway, and we 
ought to do something about it. We boys ought 
to work and earn something. Now, what can we 
do?” 

“ I don’t know,” she answered, rather sadly. 

“That’s just the trouble,” Phil continued. 
“ We don’t know what to do, nor how to find out 
about anything. If somebody would just tell us 
that !” 

“ Why don’t you ask God?” said Agnes, bending 
her head a little over the chips she was gathering up. 

Phil made no answer. She hesitated a moment 
and turned away. Then we looked at each other 
just for an instant, and went on with our work 
without speaking. I resolved to follow Agnes’ 
suggestion that very evening, but Phil, I think, 
did not wait so long. 

Nat and Dan McKenzie came in the afternoon. 
They lived near, and we saw them often on holi- 
days. 

“At work yet!” Nat exclaimed. “We’re 
through long ago. Dan is so quick that it don’t 
take us long,” glancing toward his brother, who 
was slowly and with due deliberation seating him- 
self in a wheelbarrow. 


28 


WE THREE. 


“ We have had a good many things to do besides 
the wood, but we’re just through now,” Phil an- 
swered. 

“ Why don’t you come down to the ice, then ? 
A good many were skating when we came past. 
I saw Rob there. It’s awful cold, though. The 
wind just whistles down arouud the bend, and 
strikes a fellow in the face almost hard enough to 
take the skin off,” continued Nat, rubbing his 
mittened hands together. 

“I didn’t feel it so very much — not so terri- 
ble much,” said Dan, gravely pondering the sub- 
ject. 

“ Of course not,” said Nat, soberly ; “ you couldn’t 
yet: it ain’t long enough ago. In an hour or two, 
when you catch up to it, you’ll take a shiver. You 
see, the wind never strikes Dan till it has blown a 
long ways past everybody else,” pursued Nat, with 
a sly glance at me. “ I found it cold enough, I can 
tell you. Any one can try it that wants to ; I’d 
rather wait a while. I guess the wind will go down 
when the sun does, though, and it will be nice out 
then.” 

“Do you mean to skate this evening?” 

“Yes, if the wind stops blowing so. Won’t you 
come?” 

“ Maybe,” Phil answered, rather doubtfully. 

“ Well, if you do, stop for us on the way. Maybe 
we won’t be gone ; we don’t have supper very early 
now.” 


WE THREE. 


29 


“ Father has to stay later, now Mike’s gone away,” 
said Dan, explanatorily. 

“Who is Mike?” Phil asked. 

“ Oh, an Irishman that used to live here,” Nat 
answered, carelessly. “ I don’t know what he work- 
ed at — in the day-time, I mean. He used to cut 
over for the foundry-men at night but he’s gone 
away now. They hired a colored man to take his 
place, but they couldn’t depend on him ; sometimes 
he would be there, and sometimes he wouldn’t. So 
now the men do it themselves.” 

“What is ‘ cutting over’?” questioned Phil, with 
increasing interest. 

“ Why, cutting over the sand. You know the 
heaps of sand the foundry-men have to mould in ? 
Well, when they’re through at night they want it 
all shoveled over, ready for the next day. Each 
one can do his own in fifteen or twenty minutes, 
and in summer, when it stays light so long, they’d 
just as lief do it as not. But they don’t want to 
these short winter days ; they’d rather hire some- 
body. Mike used to go and do it in a couple of 
hours or so every evening.” 

“ How much did they pay him ? Do you know ?” 

“ I don’t know. What a fellow you are to ask 
questions ! Seventy-five cents apiece for a week, I 
guess, or something like that, wasn’t it, Dan ?” 

“Who? Oh! Mike you’re talking about? Yes, 
seventy-five — no, I guess ’twas seventy, or seventy- 
five ; I don’t know which.” 


30 


WE THREE. 


u Oh, split the difference, and call it seventy-two 
and a half,” interrupted Nat, knocking the snow 
off his boots. — “ Say, boys, do come down to-night, 
won’t you? We’ll kindle a fire on the ice and 
have a jolly time.” 

“ Perhaps,” answered Phil, absently. “ Will 
your father be home to-night, Nat ?” 

“ Why, I suppose so. Didn’t think he was going 
skating too, did you ?” 

“ No.” Phil aroused from his thoughtfulness and 
laughed a little. “ Who were on the ice when you 
were there this afternoon, Nat ?” 

Nat launched readily into a description of the 
skaters and their respective merits and accomplish- 
ment — who skated fastest straight forward, who 
backward, and who could “ cut a name neatest and 
prettiest of any of ’em.” But Phil scarcely heard 
him. I was sure he was thinking of something 
else while he seemed to be listening so quietly. 

The boys went away at last, tired, perhaps, of 
the cold employment of watching others work, and 
then I looked at Phil. He was steadily putting 
things in order and piling up the last of the wood. 

“ Well?” I said, questioningly. 

He faced about and met my eyes. 

“ Well !” he answered, slowly. 

“ What is it you mean to do, Phil ?” 

“ I don’t know. I wonder if we could do it — 
this ( cutting over,’ I mean, that Nat was talking 
about?” 


WE THREE . 


31 


“ Nat said it was only shoveling over the sand,” 
I suggested. 

“ Yes, if he knew anything about it. I suppose 
we couldn’t do even that as fast as a man could, 
though I don’t see as that need make any difference 
if we did it as well ; there would be time enough. 
Being work that could be done in the evening, it 
would be just the thing for us, if only we were just 
the thing for it.” 

“ Now that they are doing it themselves, maybe 
they won’t want to hire anybody.” 

“ Maybe not; and if they do, maybe they wouldn’t 
hire us. Perhaps we couldn’t do it, anyway ; there 
are plenty of uncertainties about it, but we can find 
out.” 

“ Yes ?” I said, interrogatively, though I knew 
the answer that would follow. 

“ We must ask Mr. McKenzie about it. I don’t 
know any other way.” Phil paused, with his arms 
full of wood, to look into my face. “ Will you do 
it, Win? Shall we go to-night?” 

“ I wish we could see him when the boys are not 
there,” I responded, rather hesitatingly. 

“ That’s easy enough ; wait until they are gone 
to skate. They’ll be off by seven o’clock,” said 
Phil ; and so the plan was decided upon. 

How restless we were, and how many times our 
eyes sought the clock after the early supper was out 
of the way that evening! It seemed as if seven 
o’clock had never been so long in coming, and 


32 


WE THREE. 


when it did arrive as if it had someway come too 
soon. The old clock rang out the strokes as if it 
were determined that there should be no mistake 
about the time, and Phil closed the book he had 
been pretending to read without having turned a 
leaf, and looked at me. If we had been two spies 
sent out to obtain intelligence in the heart of the 
enemy’s camp, with the safety of an army depend- 
ing upon our success, I could scarcely have been 
more deeply impressed with the feeling of being 
pledged to a desperate scheme that would require 
no little amount of courage and skill to carry it 
through than I did then as we closed the door of 
home and passed out into the wintry air. And 
yet it would have been hard to tell why good- 
natured Mr. McKenzie, whom we met every day, 
should suddenly have grown so formidable. 

We walked down the snowy street, not taking 
altogether the shortest route, and saying nothing to 
each other. For myself I was pondering various 
appropriate speeches that might introduce the sub- 
ject neatly. 

“Here we are,” said Phil, when we reached the 
little gate at the side of the house, as if he feared 
that I might be entertaining some doubts about 
the locality. 

The sound of Mr. McKenzie’s violin saluted us 
cheerily as we walked up the path. It was not a 
first-class instrument, and had seen better days be- 
fore it found its way to the auction-room where 


WE THREE. 


33 


Mr. McKenzie purchased it. Neither was Mr. 
McKenzie a first-class performer, though he had 
one essential qualification of a great musician — per- 
severance. He had practiced faithfully for more 
than a year; and if he could not play a single 
tune, he could play parts of several and contented- 
ly enjoy the fragments. Both Phil and I so far for- 
got our politeness as to steal a glance through the 
window, and congratulated ourselves that Nat and 
Dan were not in sight as we passed on to the 
door. 

Mrs. McKenzie answered our summons, and 
stood peering at us for a moment with one plump 
hand shading her eyes. 

“ Why, it’s you, aint it? Dear me! so it is! 
Come right in out of the cold. Wanted to see the 
boys, didn’t you ? Now, if that ain’t a pity, and 
they’ve just gone out! I declare it is ! They must 
go off a-skatin’ whether or no, Nat and Dan, both 
on ’em.” 

“ We didn’t come to see the boys to-night, Mrs. 
McKenzie,” Phil interposed. “ We — ” 

“ Oh ! come to hear Mr. McKenzie play ? Well, 
that’s clever! Pa, here’s Philip and Winford 
come in to hear ye play a while ; boys do take to 
music so. Walk right along to the fire. Kitty 
dear, can’t you set ’em some chairs ?” 

Little golden-haired Kitty shyly pushed forward 
two chairs into comfortable proximity to the blaz- 
ing open fire, and Mr. McKenzie looked up, nodded 

3 


34 


WE THREE. 


and smiled, but accepting our presence as a com- 
pliment to his skill only fiddled away the more 
vigorously. 

“ Play that part of Fisher’s Hornpipe that 
sounded so nice last night, pa,” suggested Mrs. 
McKenzie as she seated herself in a low chair and 
drew about her the dishes of apples and raisins and 
the papers of spice that were to be prepared for the 
morrow’s mince-pie. u There ! ain’t that fine, now? 
Something sort of cheery, ain’t it? It’ll chirk a 
body up to hear it when he’s learnt it all.” 

Phil and I warmed our fingers and listened — not 
altogether attentively, I fear. We ate the apples 
Mrs. McKenzie pressed upon us, and listened. We 
stole sly glances at each other, and listened, for 
there was nothing else to do. Mr. McKenzie’s 
patience and stock of odds and ends seemed inex- 
haustible. A headless “ Nelly Bly ” was followed 
by a distorted fragment of the “ Devil’s Dream.” 
“ Jockey ” was coaxed about halfway “ to the 
fair,” and “ Money Musk” hinted that it was 
somewhere in among those strings if it could only 
be got out ; but it couldn’t. 

“ Don’t know any more of that,” the performer 
would announce complacently, and plunge imme- 
diately into something else. We began to glance 
uneasily at the clock, and ponder anxiously the 
probability of the boys’ return before we had ac- 
complished our errand, and wonder vaguely how 
long these violin solos usually lasted at night. 


WE THREE. 


35 


Once, when there came an instant’s pause, and Phil 
had cleared his throat with a preparatory cough, 
Mrs. McKenzie said, 

“ Now play ’em that last end of Hail Columby, 
pa ; that’s so interestin’ and the brief chance was 
gone. 

At last, when we were almost discouraged, the 
bow suddenly dropped and the noise ceased. 

“ I’d be willin’ to play for you ’most any length 
of time, boys, but it ain’t good for the instrument 
to keep it on the stretch too long at once,” remark- 
ed the violin’s owner. 

“ We’re much obliged to you, I’m sure,” Phil 
said relieved, then glanced at me. 

A moment’s awkward silence fell. 

“Mike Cairn has gone away, hasn’t he? — that 
is, he doesn’t work at the foundry now?” I ven- 
tured to remark parenthetically, by way of an 
opening wedge. 

“ Mike ? Oh, he never did do anything there but 
cut over the sand for the moulders. Thinkin’ 
about his fiddlin’, wasn’t you ? He did use to try 
it some, but he never made much hand at it — 
hadn’t the music in him, somehow. A man’s got 
to have it in ’fore he can get it out.” 

“You haven’t any one to do the work now that 
Mike did — at the foundry, I mean?” questioned 
Phil. 

“ Nobody but ourselves, and that’s the best help 
of any,” laughed Mr. McKenzie. “ If you want 


36 


WE THREE. 


anything done, boys, the surest way is to do it your- 
selves.^ 

“ That’s just what we were talking about — doing 
it ourselves,” said Phil, courageously. “And we 
wanted to ask you about it — whether it wasn’t 
something that we could do, Win and I, with Rob 
to help, maybe. I’m pretty sure we could.” And 
Phil’s resolute spirit flashed into his blue eyes. 

The subject was fairly broached, and partly from 
Phil’s explanations, partly from mine, Mr. McKen- 
zie learned of our wishing for something to do, and 
how it was that we came to think of this plan. 
Why we were so anxious to carry it into effect he 
had no need to ask, and he delicately avoided that 
point, only saying heartily after his first look of 
surprise had vanished, 

“ Well, now, that’s what I call right down manly 
and sensible, I do ! Not that I know if it can be 
done,” he continued, fixing his eyes meditatively 
on the coals. “ You see, it’s something a body’d 
have to be stiddy and reg’lar about, through thick 
and thin, whether or no. It wouldn’t do to fail 
now and then ; for if the men got there of a mornin’, 
and found their sand not ready, it would put ’em 
back a deal, and raise a fuss right off.” 

“ Yes, sir, I know that. If we agreed to do it 
we’d expect to stick to it,” said Phil, decidedly. 

“Yes, I believe you would — anyhow, I’d be 
willin’ to trust you. But there’s the others, you 
see, they have to have their say about it, and they 


WE THREE. 


37 


might think that you boys couldn’t do the work 
well. Shovelin’ is pretty hard work, that’s a fact, 
if a man has to keep at it long at once. Still, as 
you could take your time, and there’d be two or 
three of you to help it along, I don’t see why you 
shouldn’t do it well enough — I don’t, really. Tell 
you what, boys, I’ll talk to the men about it, and 
see what they have to say, and then let you know. 
The most of ’em want somebody, I’m sure, for 
though it doesn’t take but fifteen or twenty minutes 
for each one to do his own, yet they don’t want even 
that tacked on to a hard day’s work. I’ll see on 
Monday.” 

The winter wind scarcely seemed so cold when 
we were out in it- again on our homeward way, but 
we walked with quicker steps. 

“Well, that is done,” I said, drawing a long 
breath. 

“ Yes, all that we can do about it,” Phil an- 
swered slowly. “ Now we must wait for Monday.” 

“I wish we could have known to-night; there is 
so much waiting about everything,” I said discon- 
tentedly, stumbling at the first page of a life’s long 
story. 

“ I wonder,” said Phil, musingly, “ what Joshua’s 
army thought of those seven long days of march- 
ing around the walls of Jericho? Wasted time 
and useless work it seemed to some of them, I sup- 
pose.” 

We said nothing of our plan at home that night; 


38 


WE THREE. 


it would be time enough for that when we found 
that there would be some prospect of our succeed- 
ing. And so when Rob came home a few minutes 
after we had resumed our places by the kitchen 
lire, and questioned in his careless, good-natured 
way why we had not been out enjoying the splendid 
ice, we did not explain our evening’s engagement. 


CHAPTER III. 


CHOOL over, on Monday morning, Phil 
and I cleared the steps of the little building 
at a bound. Outside the boys were rang- 
ing themselves for a snow-ball battle, but 
we refused the shouted invitations to join their 
ranks, and hurried away. The sport had lost its 
attractions for us that day. 

“ What’s the hurry ? haven’t got to cook the 
dinner, have you?” called Nat McKenzie, aiming 
a ball at my cap that sent it off into a drift. 

While I stooped to regain it Dan joined us. 

“ I’m a-goin’ home too,” he remarked. “ I 
wouldn’t mind snow-ballin’ if they’d only play 
fair ; but they’ll up and hit a feller with five or six 
while he’s just a-makin’ a ball and gettin’ ready to 
play, and there’s no fun in that. Say, what makes 
you walk so awful fast ?” 

It seemed as if the foundry whistle had no inten- 
tion of blowing that day, we stood at our little 
garden gate and waited for it so long after Dan had 
passed on homeward, stamping our feet and rub- 
bing our fingers to keep them warm the while. 
But at last the welcome sound came, and then, 

39 



40 


WE THREE. 


slowly, the men followed it. Mr. McKenzie saw 
us, and good-naturedly crossed the street. 

“ Well, boys, I spoke to the men about it,” he 
began without waiting for any questions; “and 
they’re willin’ if you’ll only do the thing up fair 
and square, and not disapp’int ’em. I told ’em I’d 
answer for that — sort of went security for you, you 
see. So if you’re ready to begin right off, so much 
the better. There’s ten of us, and we’ll each pay 
seventy-five cents a week. If you’ll either of you 
come down to the shop about quittin’ time to-night, 
I’ll show you what it is we want done, and how 
you can get in.” 

We thanked him heartily and promised to be 
ready. 

“ What if, after all, grandmother shouldn’t be 
willing to have us do it ?” I asked, pausing for an 
instant as we were hurrying up the walk. 

“ She will be,” Phil answered decidedly. “ Poor 
grandmother !” he added softly with the next breath. 
He had noted with watchful eyes, though silently, 
the steady retrenchment, the countless little econo- 
mies, that had taken place in all our household ar- 
rangements; and he knew that we could not afford 
to object to any honest work that offered. 

Grandmother did not when we told our story at 
dinner. “ It was well, and well done,” she said, 
and yet a sudden look like tears came to her eyes 
for a moment. In my boyish elation I wondered 
at it then, and did not guess that any hope might 


WE THREE. 


41 


have gone down, any pain have been silently ac- 
cepted, in that brief glance, or think that her eyes 
might see farther than ours. 

“ It will not take you from school just yet, that 
is one good thing,” Agnes said, cheerfully. 

The plan just suited Rob’s fancy. It had the 
attraction of novelty, and his approval was un- 
qualified if not valuable. 

“ Help do it ? Of course I will ! I don’t see 
why you two need have kept so quiet about what 
you were up to all this time, though. Just shovel- 
ing up a few heaps of sand in that old foundry 
every night ? why, it’ll be nothing but downright 
fun !” 

“ For a night or two,” suggested Phil, coolly ; 
“but you see the shoveling will last longer than that, 
and have to be done all the same on nights when 
we would like to go skating or coasting, nights 
when we don’t feel very well, and on stormy even- 
ings when it will seem a great deal nicer to stay by 
the fire.” 

“ Humph ! what’s the use of making a bugbear 
of such little things as that?” said Rob, contempt- 
uously. “A fellow that’s afraid to go out in a 
storm once in a while ought to be rolled up in a 
blanket and laid away somewhere ; he isn’t fit to 
be around loose.” 

Phil only smiled in answer — a significant, pro- 
voking smile, which, fortunately, Rob did not no- 
tice. He was too busy in counting up what we 


42 


WE THREE. 


should earn each week, and presently announced 
the result triumphantly. 

“See here,” he said as he was about starting 
away in the afternoon. “ If you want me to, Fll 
go down to the foundry to-day, and find out what 
is to be done, and how to do it. It’ll save you boys 
the trouble, and I’d just as lief go as not. I’ll get 
excused from school an hour earlier.” 

“ Oh, there’s no need of that,” said Phil, qtiietly. 
“You’ll have plenty of time after school. Mr. 
McKenzie said come about quitting- time, and that 
isn’t until six o’clock, you know.” 

Rob’s countenance lost its animation. He stood 
for a moment or two drawing on his mittens very 
slowly and whirling his cap about on his hands. 

“ I don’t know as I can go so well, after all, 
come to think of it,” he remarked, hesitatingly. 
“ I’d promised Nat to go over to his house after 
school, and I suppose he’ll be expecting me. You 
can go, can’t you, Win?” 

“Yes, I’ll do it,” I answered, promptly. In 
fact, I thought it would be a much wiser and safer 
arrangement than to intrust the matter to the fun- 
loving, proverbially-careless Rob. I wondered 
that Phil should have seemed willing to do so. It 
was only seeming, for as the door closed after him, 
he laughed. 

“Rob is so young yet — the youngest of us all, 
Phil; we mustn’t forget that,” said Agnes, half 
pleading, half reproachfully. 


WE THREE . 


43 


“ I know it; I did not want him to go, Agnes, ” 
Phil answered, soberly enough. But Agnes did 
not look quite satisfied, though she said no more. 

Dark, lonely and silent the old foundry seemed 
that night when we three entered it. It stood a 
little out of the village on the river bank, and the 
great irregular building, or group of buildings, 
looked strange and weird in the dim moonlight 
that forced its way through the clouded sky. Out- 
side, the snow lay white and unbroken, save in the 
broad wagon-track and the path where many feet 
had soiled and trampled it. Inside, in the part we 
entered, was the long room with its floor of hard- 
beaten earth, walls dark with smoke and dust, long 
irregular drifts of black sand, piles of flasks and 
patterns, and iron in its various forms lying every- 
where. A strange picture it presented to our boy- 
ish eyes as its gloomy outlines were faintly re- 
vealed by the lantern we carried, which threw its 
light for a little distance, but left great corners 
where the shadows lurked. 

It struck even Bob that his promised “fun” 
was not of the most inspiriting kind. He seated 
himself upon an empty box and began to talk of 
old ruined castles and dreary, desolate caverns. ‘ 
“Better call it a mine,” said Phil, cheerily; 
“ we are going to dig for gold. Come on, boys.” 

“ Wish there was gold in it, sure enough,” said 
Bob, pausing to rest after a few minutes’ vigorous 
work. 


44 


WE THREE. 


“ We are sure of our pay for doing it, and that 
is more than can be said of most gold-digging / 7 
Phil answered. 

Our task, once fairly begun, was not a long one, 
and no more difficult or tiresome than we had ex- 
pected ; so we closed the old building, locked the 
door, and took our departure well satisfied. 

<4< We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sod with our bayonets turning, 

By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light 
And the lanterns dimly burning,’ ” 


quoted Rob, laughingly, as we filed out of the 
yard. “ I say, this isn’t a bad contract.” 

“ ‘ So say we all of us, so say we all/ ” I 
responded, flourishing my lantern. 

So said we all for the first week, particularly on 
Saturday night, when we received our money, seven 
dollars and a half, and gave it all to grandmother. 
We were standing at the gate that Saturday even- 
ing when the men passed home from work ; not 
altogether accidental our gathering and lingering 
there perhaps, yet we did not acknowledge even 
to each other that there was any purpose in it ; and 
Phil, I remember, remarked carelessly, as if the 
subject were something that had just occurred to 
him, 

“ Most likely we shall get our pay on Monday, 
boys; you know our week’s work won’t really be 
done until to-night.” 


WE THREE. 


45 


“ No,” I answered, composedly, yet watching the 
road eagerly all the time to catch sight of Mr. 
McKenzie; and I am sure we should all have been 
disappointed if, on his appearing, he had not crossed 
the street and come to us. 

“ Thought I’d step over and pay ye,” he said, 
drawing out an old leathern wallet. “ Here it is — 
a five and a two, and fifty cents. That makes a 
week’s wages, don’t it?” 

“ We haven’t worked a week,” interposed Rob. 

“ Well, no, not exactly, but then it’s handier to 
pay Saturday, and the men just each one handed 
me his share to-night ; and so here it is. You see 
we can trust you boys ; ain’t afraid of you’re run- 
ning off, nor anything. You’ve done it first rate, 
too — as good as Mike did and the kind-hearted 
neighbor passed on, looking back over his shoulder a 
minute and calling out an invitation for us to “come 
over and hear a bit of music some of these evenings.” 

“ We’re to give this to grandmother?” questioned 
Phil, looking down at the bills in his hand. 

“ Of course,” responded Rob, promptly. 

“ Well, you do it, Rob.” 

Rob marched into the house. “ Is supper ’most 
ready, Agnes? I’m awfully hungry. Oh, grand- 
mother, here’s our week’s wages and he dropped 
the money into her lap with the air of one accus- 
tomed to giving equal or larger sums every week of 
his life. 

“ Thank you, dear,” she answered, glancing from 


46 


WE THREE . 


his face to Phil's and mine. She said nothing more, 
but she sat with the bills on her lap, carefully 
smoothing out every wrinkle, and looking at them 
as if to her they were something more than ordi- 
nary bank-notes. 

Nat and Dan McKenzie whispered sly congratu- 
lations the next day after Sunday-school. 

“ I didn't know anything about it till last night," 
said Nat. “ Why, I wouldn't mind making as 
much as that myself, if it wasn't for the work." 

“A man can't get much in this w'orld without 
working for it, though," said Rob, oracularly. 
“He ought to be willing to do it, too." 

“ Why, you boys'll be as rich as — as — what's his 
name the teacher was telling about t'other day ? — 
George Jacob Disaster — if you keep on," observed 
Dan, meditatively. 

“Yes, a good ways on," Phil answered, smiling 
somewhat complacently, pleased that our school- 
fellows recognized our increased importance. 

But the next week did not pass so smoothly. 
We went down on Monday night, as usual. The 
novelty of the occupation had in a measure worn 
off, the place had grown more familiar, and we 
were less intent upon observing our surroundings 
than upon accomplishing our errand as speedily as 
possible, and so went to work at once. 

“ Hark !" exclaimed Rob, pausing suddenly. 
“ What was that noise ?" 

Phil and I raised our heads to listen. 


WE THREE . 


47 


“ I didn't hear anything," I replied. 

u I did ; I’m sure of it !’’ said Rob, positively. 

We waited for a minute, but the silence remained 
unbroken, and we took up our shovels again. Rob, 
however, did not seem satisfied ; he scanned the 
gloomy corners suspiciously. “ I do believe there’s 
somebody here besides us," he said, in a low tone. 

“ I don’t see why there should be. What could 
anybody want here?" asked Phil. 

Just then a loud rap sounded upon the outside 
of the window directly in front of us, and, startled, 
we looked up in time to see a hand withdrawn. 

“ There ! I knew it," whispered Rob, with curi- 
ously-blended triumph and consternation. 

We were only three boys away in that lonely 
old foundry at night; it is scarcely marvelous that 
our faces paled or that terrible suggestions of possi- 
ble and impossible dangers flashed into our mind in 
an instant. 

“ Is the door fastened ? Did you lock it after us, 
Win?" questioned Phil, quickly recovering from 
his bewilderment. 

I had no time to answer in the negative — no 
need, for the door was pushed partly open before 
either of us could make a single movement in that 
direction, and admitted a head covered with coarse 
black hair and crowned with a ragged cap. Its 
owner burst into a loud laugh : 

“ Hello ! here they are, digging away like moles ! 
Come on, fellows." 


48 


WE THREE. 


He flang the door wide open, and, followed by 
two others, entered. Great, rough, swaggering boys 
they were, ill dressed, coarse-faced and altogether 
unpleasant-looking company, the youngest of them 
fully as old as Phil, and somewhat stouter. 

We recognized them as they advanced toward us, 
but it was a recognition not calculated to relieve or 
reassure. Everybody at Quinton knew the Camps. 
They lived a little out of the village, and not far 
from the foundry-building, where the father for 
the most part found work, sometimes employed 
about the yard, sometimes driving one of the teams. 
His tremendous strength made him a valuable as- 
sistant in the way of lifting, loading and unloading 
iron, and probably preserved for him his place ; for 
he was an obstinate, surly fellow whom no one 
liked, a constant drinker, seldom really intoxicated, 
but usually, as Mr. McKenzie expressed it, “ with 
just enough down him to make him more cross- 
grained than he would be nat’ rally, and that’s bad 
enough.” One or the other of the older boys was 
occasionally employed about the shop for a week 
or two with his father; sometimes the boys were 
off to the city for a short time, but oftener the three 
were hunting, fishing or lounging about, without 
seeming to have any settled occupation. There 
were two younger children, and a wild, rough, quar- 
relsome set the whole family were. This visit 
meant no good to us, we knew, even if it did not 
mean positive evil. 


WE THREE. 


49 


"Well, what do you want?” Phil demanded, 
rather brusquely, breaking the brief silence, during 
which we had been gazing at each other. 

“ If we want anything, it’s most likely we can 
take it without none of your help,” retorted Eph, 
the largest and oldest of the party. 

The truth of his remark was very evident, and 
also that it would be safer not to offend them if we 
could avoid it. Phil hesitated a little before he 
spoke again : 

“ I didn’t suppose you came here at this time of 
night for nothing.” 

" Who said ’twas for nothing ?” asked Eph. 

" ’Tis rather an irreg’lar hour,” interposed Bill, 
maliciously ; “ but seeing such mighty nice fellers 
as you can stand it, we thought we might venter 
too without liurtin’ our morals.” 

" We have business here,” said Phil, striving to 
control his impatience. 

"Well, who says we have not too?” persisted 
Bill. " We ain’t ’bliged to tell all we know. 
Maybe we just come to boss the job ; and when 
you get that sand all shoveled over, we’ll pound 
it down agin, so’s to give you a little extra practice. 
Maybe we’ve got other matters of our own to 
’tend to.” 

" Look here, Bill Camp !” said Phil, decidedly ; 
"it’s no use talking nonsense. You know we’re 
hired to do this work, and while we’re here we’re 
expected to take care of the place. I don’t think 
4 


50 


WE THREE. 


you ought to come in here without telling us what 
you’re after.” 

“ Hadn’t oughter ! oh my!” sneered Bill; “you 
ought to help it if you can. If you’re hired to 
work, you’d better be doing it, and not stand there 
watching us; we’ll take care of our own business.” 

It was useless to expect any explanation of their 
purpose except as their actions gave it, but we were 
sure their object was mischief in some form. They 
began to wander about here and there, examining 
everything within reach. 

“ I wish we could put them out,” I whispered to 
Phil as they withdrew a short distance from us. 

“ We can’t,” he answered, in the same low tone. 
“ It’s of no use to try. I’m not sure but that is 
what they want us to do ; but we must keep quiet 
as long as we can, so as they don’t hurt anything. 
You and Rob go on with the work — we must get 
that done, anyway — and I’ll watch them. Maybe 
we can get them out when they see we are through 
and ready to go.” 

Rob and I accordingly went to work again. Yot 
very heartily or steadily, however; we were too 
anxious about our unwelcome visitors, and could 
not help pausing now and then to watch their 
movements. Phil, seated upon an old box near us, 
never turned his eyes from them for an instant. 

“Tell ye,” said Eph, drawing a knife from his 
pocket and laying his hand on a wheel-band : 
“suppose I cut this ’ere leather strap halfway 


WE THREE. 


51 


through. Wouldn’t there be a jolly bust-up in the 
mornin’ when they started her !” 

Phil started, but a second thought made him 
keep his seat. 

“ No, there wouldn’t,” he answered, coolly, “ for I 
should go and tell some of the men, or Mr. Croy- 
den himself, about it to-night, and they wouldn’t 
start until it was fixed. You would only get your- 
self into trouble.” 

“ Always supposing I’d just sit still and let you 
do it, which is more’n likely I wouldn’t,” said Eph. 
“ And if you did, I’d try the blade on you next 
time. Don’t know but that’d be the best end of 
the line to begin at.” But he shut the knife and 
dropped it into his pocket again. 

“ Here’s some varnish,” announced Jim, the 
youngest of the three, peering into a kettle. 
“ B’lieve these ’ere gentlemen’d look more polished 
like if they had a coat of it.” 

“ Wonder if that sand wouldn’t work partic’lar 
nice in the mornin’ if ’t had some varnish mixed 
through it?” added Bill, catching up the kettle. 
“I’ll experiment a little.” 

We had just finished our work, and Phil hastily 
caught up the lantern. 

“ Hurry !” he whispered, and sprang forward, 
turning the lantern so as to throw the sand-heaps 
into darkness as rapidly as possible, while we hast- 
ened after him toward the door. 

“ Hello ! what are you going to do now ?” 


52 


WE THREE. 


demanded Eph, not expecting so sudden a move- 
ment. 

“ Going home,” answered Phil as we hurried 
through the door. 

“ Who said we were ready yet ?” muttered Bill, 
setting down his kettle, unable to carry out his 
threatened experiment in the dark, if, indeed, he 
had intended doing it at all. 

“ We are ready, at any rate,” said Phil, blowing 
out the light he carried. “If you only wanted to 
look round, you can’t see to do it any longer, and 
you’d better come out.” 

“ Lock them in,” suggested Rob, in an undertone ; 
but Phil shook his head : “ They could break out 
with but little trouble, and would be sure to do 
some damage in revenge.” 

“ If you have no objections, we’ll take our time 
about that,” retorted Eph, provokingly; and for 
several minutes longer they lingered, while we 
waited outside. We could hear them whispering 
to each other now and then, but could not see what 
they were doing, if anything, and at last, with a 
low, chuckling laugh from Bill, they straggled 
slowly out. 

I closed and locked the door, half expecting 
some attempt to wrench away the key ; but there 
was none, and the three followed us out of the 
yard, keeping in uncomfortably close proximity all 
the way until we reached the path that led to their 
home, when they turned off and left 11s. I drew a 


WE THREE. 


53 


long breath of relief as I saw them walking away 
down the moonlit road. 

“ I can’t make out what they were after, any- 
way, v said Rob, when they were fairly out of hear- 
ing. 

“ That’s the worst of it,” Phil answered, in a 
troubled way. “I wish I did know what they 
meant. They were up to some mischief, I’m sure.” 

“ Maybe they saw us passing with the lantern 
and only followed to see what we were going to 
do,” I suggested. “ We got rid of them easier than 
I thought we should, after all.” 

“ I don’t feel altogether easy about the foundry, 
Win.” Phil came to an abrupt halt when the 
Camps had entirely disappeared from sight. “ They 
would stay in there so long after we came out, and 
we don’t know what they were planning or doing. 
Suppose we just go back for a minute and make 
sure it’s all safe. We needn’t light the lantern 
until we get inside, so we sha’n’t be seen going.” 

We retraced our steps, keeping watch the while 
of the path down which our suspicious companions 
had passed, and re-entered the building. But aside 
from the varnlih-kettle, which we returned to its 
place, there was nothing out of order. 

“ They couldn’t well have disturbed things much 
without our hearing them, and when they couldn’t 
see, besides; but still, I couldn’t feel satisfied till I 
looked.” 

“ Don’t let us say anything about it to grand- 


54 


WE THREE. 


mother,” said Rob, with unusual thoughtfulness, 
when we reached home. “ Maybe ’twould worry 
her and Agnes.” 

“No; nor mention it to any of the boys at 
school,” cautioned Phil. “ It wouldn’t do any 
good, and might do some harm.” 

“ Anyway, it’s over, so where’s the use of fussing 
about it?” laughed Rob. 

Phil did not answer. He scarcely shared Rob’s 
confidence. 

“ You are later than usual to-night,” Agnes said, 
looking up from her sewing as we came into the 
glow of the firelight. 

“ It took us a little longer to get through,” I 
answered, simply. 

She did not ask why. The tender watchfulness 
never died out of Agnes’ dark eyes. Every tri- 
fling thing, looks, tones, our changing expressions, 
she was quick to notice, but she seldom troubled 
us with questions. I think she feared in those 
days to let the countless slender silken threads of 
influence that she was throwing around us become 
too often visible, lest in our boyish pride we should 
break away and throw them otf. Not then, but 
since, I have known how often we were carrying out 
Agnes’ plans without dreaming that they were not 
our own, following her advice when we scarcely 
knew it had been given, and how often her seem- 
ingly careless words must have been deeply studied. 
She read with love’s own vision, and her sympathy 


WE THREE. 


55 


and help were given so silently that, taking the cup, 
we seldom saw the hand that held it, or paused to 
think how our need had been known. 

Visions of the Camps in all sorts of unheard-of 
places and troublesome attitudes mingled with my 
dreams that night, and some of the waking thoughts 
that broke in upon my studies next day were 
scarcely less wild. I found myself wandering 
away from the great battles of history to imaginary 
encounters with the Camps, and neglected my un- 
solved problems to plan brilliant and impossible 
campaigns. It is much easier to think of just the 
right thing to do or say when the occasion for 
saying or doing it is past; and I re-enacted the 
last night’s scene with numerous variations, and 
schemed for future improbable contingencies. My 
lessons were some the worse for my generalship, 
and I was none the better for it in any way, by the 
time night came again, my plans being too indef- 
inite to afford any great sense of confidence or 
security. 

“ You haven’t lighted your lantern,” said Agnes 
as we started out. 

“ We can do that after we get there. It’s moon- 
light, and we don’t need it on the way,” Phil an- 
swered. 

“ If we’d only told some of the fellows at school,” 
observed Rob as we walked along, “ we could have 
got two or three to go with us to the foundry 
to-night ; and then, if the Camps came, we could 


56 


WE THREE. 


have- cl eared ’em out in a hurry. I almost wish 
we had.” 

“ No, that wouldn’t do at all,” said Phil, de- 
cidedly. “ I don’t think we have any right to take 
boys in there. If we asked them to come one time, 
they’d come of themselves another; and if they 
once got to coming, we couldn’t get along so well. 
And it wouldn’t be liked, either. It’s work, and not 
play. As for the Camps, if we get somebody to 
help drive them off once I don’t see that we’d be 
any better off the next time we were alone, and we 
can’t have help all the while. Besides, we mustn’t 
have any fighting there if we can help it. I rather 
think they wanted to provoke us into something of 
the sort last night, but we must keep out of it if 
we can. They’d be sure to break or damage some- 
thing, and then our place would be gone.” 

“ Well, very likely they won’t come again, any- 
way. I don’t believe they will,” Bob responded, 
carelessly. It was no part of his nature to meet 
trouble halfway; he was more likely, indeed, to 
close his eyes to things that it would have been 
better to face. 

“Let us take another street,” said Phil, “and 
not pass any nearer to their house than we can 
help.” 

We walked more silently as we neared the foun- 
dry, and kept a watchful lookout around us, but no 
one was in sight, and we entered the old black 
doorway as quietly as possible ; and this time I 


WE THREE. 


57 


made sure that the door was closed and locked 
behind us. Then we struck a light and proceeded 
to our work. Half an hour passed, and we were 
undisturbed; then, just as we were beginning to 
congratulate each other, there came a sound of 
footsteps on the creaking snow, and some one tried 
the door. 

“ Let’s blow out the light,” suggested Rob, hur- 
riedly. 

“ No ; they have seen it already and know we 
are here ; besides, we must finish our shoveling, at 
any rate,” Phil answered. “ The door is locked, 
and they can’t get in.” 

This last fact they discovered after considerable 
shaking and thumping, and a few moments of 
silence followed, in which Rob grew triumphant 
over their discomfiture, but Phil shook his head 
doubtfully. Presently there came a sharp rap upon 
the window near us, and Eph’s voice called roughly, 

“ Let us in there !” 

“ We don’t want you in,” retorted Rob, more 
hastily than wisely. 

“ You won’t want us out here long ; I can tell ye 
that, then. We’ll smash every glass in the window 
if you don’t let us in, and pretty quick, too,” threat- 
ened Eph, accompanying his words with another 
blow upon the window. 

“ What are you after, anyhow ?” demanded Phil. 
u What do you want in here?” 

“ Never you mind; just open the door; that’s all 


58 


WE THREE. 


you’ve got to do. We’ll take care of the rest our- 
selves.” 

“ Will you promise not to hurt anything if you 
get in ?” 

“ We’ll promise to smash things if we stay out, 
and we won’t wait all night, neither ; so hurry up !” 
Bill answered, flourishing a piece of iron he had 
picked up in the yard. 

“ What shall we do?” questioned Phil, turning 
toward us with a troubled face. “ Maybe they 
won’t do any harm if we let them in, and maybe 
they will ; they’ll be sure to if we keep them out, 
for they are getting angry.” 

“It won’t be our fault if they do break the win- 
dows,” suggested Rob, rather doubtfully. 

“ It will be hard to prove that, and we shall be 
blamed all the same,” Phil replied. “ We can’t go 
on with our work if they commence throwing at 
us through the windows, and I’m afraid they’ll do 
as they say — break every glass in the building.” 

“ Blow out the light, and they can’t see to hit 
us.” 

“That won’t save the windows; besides, we 
would have to light up again to do our work, and 
they can wait as long as we can.” 

“ We can stay all night,” urged Rob, desperately. 

“You forget grandmother and Agnes. No, that 
won’t do,” said Phil. 

“Goin’ to open that door?” shouted Eph, im- 
patiently. “ Say yes or no at once.” 


WE THREE. 


59 


“ Yes/’ Phil answered. “ It’s all we can do,” 
he added as the heads disappeared from the window. 
“Let us all go down to the door, and maybe they 
will not come in very far ; we will not let them in 
if we can help it. Take care of the lantern, Win ; 
and if they try to get it from you or start for any 
mischief, blow it out at once.” 

They were rattling at the door again before we 
reached it. Rob and I stepped a little to one side. 
Phil unlocked and opened it, and the three filed in, 
then stopped and faced us. 

“Now I wish you’d just tell us, once for all, 
what you want?” said Phil. 

“Yes,” drawled Bill; “you mostly always get 
what you’re wishing for, don’t you ?” 

“ Most likely we come ’cause we want to git into 
good comp’ny. It’s a priv’lege to just see three 
such smart working-fellows as you are,” added Eph. 

“ You’re doing a mean thing, and you know you 
are,” said Phil, indignantly. “ We come here to do 
honest work for honest wages, as we have a right 
to do, and because we need the money. We have 
never hurt you in any way, and we don’t want to ; 
now, why can’t you let us alone ?” 

“We ain’t a-touching ye,” Bill answered, coolly. 
“Don’t know nothin’ about your rights. Maybe 
some folks nearer by has a better right to the job 
than you fellows has, if it comes to that. Go to 
work if you want to ; we ain’t hinderin’ ye.” 

“Will you let things alone, then?” 


60 


WE THREE. 


“ ’Cording as whether it suits us to touch ’em,” 
said Eph, in his tantalizing way. 

Phil’s eyes flashed, but he controlled his temper 
wonderfully well, and made another effort to come 
to some kind of an understanding : 

“ You three never came here last night and to- 
night just for the sake of watching us. We know 
that very well ; you have some plan in your heads. 
If you want anything from us, why don’t you say 
so and have done with it? What do you want us 
to do ?” 

“’Tend to your own concerns, that’s all. We’re 
just going to stay so’s you won’t git too lonesome. 
We’ll make this little occupation ’mazing pleasant, 
and take care you don’t lose it an’ git into trouble 
through something being broke, that’s all. AVe’ll 
be a sight of help to ye yet, we will,” was Eph’s 
reply. And we could gain nothing more satisfac- 
tory. 

They were bent upon tormenting us ; and with 
our unequal strength and our care for the property, 
we seemed almost helpless. They would not leave 
until we did, we had our work to complete, and the 
scene of the previous night was re-enacted, only 
that our visitors were still more troublesome, pry- 
ing into everything until our utmost vigilance 
could scarcely prevent mischief. Even when we 
were through, it was long before we could succeed 
in getting them fairly out of the building, and 
then, as Phil turned to lock the door, a blow from 


WE THREE. 


61 


Eph’s heavy boot knocked the lantern from my 
hand and broke it into fragments. After that they 
started off, laughing loudly ; but Bill turned at the 
gateway to say, 

“ Shouldn’t wonder if you’d better forget to 
come down here to-morrow night — if you’ve sense 
enough.” 

He stopped for no answer ; we made none, but 
contrived to linger and not leave the yard until 
they were out of sight. 

“ I know now what they’re trying to do,” I said 
as we walked homeward. 

“ So do I,” Phil answered, quietly. 

What we were to do was a more difficult prob- 
lem — one that we all were studying too deeply to 
say much about just then ; and we tramped single 
file along the white, narrow path almost in silence. 

“ Don’t say anything about it to-night either,” 
Phil whispered, pausing with his hand on the 
kitchen door to repeat the last night’s caution. 
“ They can’t help us any ; it’s something we must 
settle ourselves.” 

“ Why, you are later still to-night,” remarked 
grandmother, wonderingly. “ Agnes has been look- 
ing out of the window every minute or two for this 
half hour.” 

Agnes looked up with a smile that had an anx- 
ious question underlying it, but she did not put it 
into words. 

“ We got our lantern broken,” Phil said, care- 


62 


WE THREE. 


lessly, as he took a seat by the fire — at least, he 
tried to say it carelessly, but I noticed that Agnes* 
dark eyes suddenly sought his face as if she dis- 
covered something unusual in the tone. 

An earnest “ council of three ” was held in our 
little upper room the next morning. It was a small 
chamber with ceiling sloping at one side until it 
almost touched Rob’s curly head, the whitewashed 
walls decorated here and there with some pictures 
that had struck our boyish fancy, and so been res- 
cued from old books and papers — a hunter in full 
dress, a very brown elephant under a very green 
tree, and a ship sailing on nothing, the ocean not 
having been considered worth preserving. The sun 
shone in it at the eastern window, and the light lay 
in great golden bars across the fioor, like shining 
paths opened to our feet, I thought, only that the 
trouble that we had met barred us from walking 
there. Rob had mounted an old chest of drawers, 
Phil was seated on the foot of the bed, and I on 
a trunk in the corner. 

“The thing is they want the place we have got for 
themselves,” Phil said, thoughtfully. “ We found 
out that last night, whether they meant we should 
or not. They mean to worry and torment us and 
let us have no peace until they make us give it 
up.” 

“ Which we won’t do,” I interposed, deter- 
minedly. 

“ I should think we wouldn’t !” ejaculated Rob, 


WE THREE. 


63 


with an emphatic blow of his fist upon the old 
chest. 

“ No, we won’t,” Phil added, in a lower tone, but 
one no less decided. “ We thought of it first, asked 
for it first, and came by it honestly. I suppose 
they think they could get it if we were gone, but I 
don’t believe the men or the owners of the foundry 
would trust them there. Anyway, the place is ours, 
and we need it as much as they do. As long as we 
do the work to suit the men we have a right to stay, 
and we don’t mean to give it up. That much is 
settled. Now, what shall we do?” 

“ Tell Mr. McKenzie about it ?” suggested Rob, 
questioningly. 

“ He feels kindly toward us, I know, and would 
try to help us,” Phil answered, slowly. 

“ And he’d go down with us, I’m sure he would,” 
Rob interrupted, more eagerly. “ The Camps 
wouldn’t trouble us much if he were there.” 

“ But Mr. McKenzie might come to the conclu- 
sion that he had as lief do the work himself as to 
go down and guard us while we do it,” said Phil, 
smiling, though rather faintly. 

“ After all, they have only bothered around and 
tried to frighten us ; they haven’t really done any 
harm,” I remarked, after a moment’s silence. 

“ Not yet,” said Phil. 

“ Do you think they will ?” 

"I’m afraid so, if they can’t get what they’re 
after without. They’d rather just make it so un- 


64 


WE THREE. 


comfortable for us that we will give it up without 
their doing any real damage ; their chance for get- 
ting it themselves would be better. But if they 
can’t do that, they’ll try to get us into trouble, 
anyway, and they can do that easily enough if 
there’s mischief done and things go wrong at the 
foundry.” 

“ I don’t see why. It would be very unjust to 
blame us for things we didn’t do and couldn’t 
help. And as for taking away our place on that 
account, why, everybody knows what the Camps 
are,” I urged, indignant at the very thought. 

“ Yes; but you see, Win, there’s nobody to care 
very much about us, or whether we keep the place 
or not,” Phil said, sadly. “ I’m afraid Mr. Croy- 
den or the foundry-men wouldn’t stop to inquire 
much about the right or wrong of the matter. 
They’d just be vexed at any loss or trouble, and 
think it came from trusting to boys at all ; that 
other boys were sure to be hanging around where 
they were, quarreling and making mischief; and 
that if they had hired a man nothing of the kind 
would have happened. It would be true, too, and 
so they would very likely send u’s away.” 

“ Then I don’t see that it’s any use to tell any- 
body — any of them — about it now, either,” I an- 
swered, feeling as if our prospects were growing 
very dark. 

“ No, I don’t know as we can expect any favors 
because we are boys. As long as we can do the 


WE THREE. 


65 


work as well as anybody it’s all right ; but just as 
soon as it begins to make any bother or trouble to 
have us there, why, we won’t be kept; I’m pretty 
sure of that.” 

If this reasoning was not altogether correct, it 
seemed very conclusive just then, with only our 
boyish wisdom to guide us. 

“ If we only were strong enough to drive them 
away and make them afraid of us ! but we’re not.” 

Phil looked down at his fists regretfully : “ No.” 

“ And if we can’t keep them away ourselves or 
get anybody to help us, what can we do?” said 
Rob, disconsolately. He would have been ready 
enough with rash plannings and doings in any 
ordinary case of annoyance from other boys, or 
quarrel with them, but here we had a family on 
our hands, to whom this work of ours was worth a 
good deal. It was a question of being allowed to 
earn an honest living or suffering much privation. 

“ I’ve thought of one thing that we might do,” 
said Phil, hesitatingly. “ I don’t know that it 
would do any good, but we might try it.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Tell Mr. Camp himself about it.” 

“ Mr. Camp !” exclaimed Rob and I in a breath. 
If Phil had proposed getting rid of a savage young 
lion by appealing to the mother-lioness, it would 
scarcely, at first thought, have seemed more auda- 
cious. 

“ I know everybody says he is cross, surly and 

5 


66 


WE THREE. 


ill-natured, and that he is hardly ever really sober,” 
Phil went on, determined to explain his idea fully, 
now that the matter had been broached ; “ but at 
least he is sober enough to work pretty steady and 
get an honest living. He don’t go wandering 
round in the vagabond way that the boys do. 
Why, they wouldn’t any of them keep this work of 
ours more than a week or two if they got it. But 
about Mr. Camp. I don’t believe he’d like it if 
any one tried to throw him out of his place, and I 
never heard of his trying to do it with any other 
man. A good many that are pretty bad and rough 
in other ways have some kind of honor about that, 
and maybe he has. He could stop the boys if he 
had a mind to, I think, for folks say that the boys 
are more afraid of him than of any one else.” 

“ I don’t know as it would do any hurt,” I said, 
not very hopefully, after thinking of it for a min- 
ute or two. 

“ No ; if he is angry and won’t help us any, he 
can’t do anything but storm and scold ; it won’t 
make us any worse off.” 

“ ‘ Beard the lion in his den.’ Let’s do it, any- 
how,” commented Rob, momentarily attracted by 
the daring of the thing. “ I say, though, Phil, 
you’d go alone, wouldn’t you ? or you and Win?” 

“ I’m not sure but we’d better all go,” said Phil, 
reflectively. “He can’t help seeing for himself 
then how much younger and smaller we are than 
his boys, and maybe he’ll think how mean it is they 


WE THREE. 


67 


are acting. But, boys, we want to have some way 
planned to get along before night. If we do this, 
we must do it to-day.” 

“He will be away at work before this time.” 

“ Yes, but we can find him home at noon.” 

We sat silent for a little. This did not seem a 
very promising experiment; it was born of our 
desperation, indeed, and the undertaking was far 
from pleasant. 

“ He’s so cross, rough and ugly — a man besides. 
I’m afraid he won’t care much about what we boys 
want or think,” said Bob, soberly. 

“ The old giant Goliath didn’t care much about 
the boy David, either, but that didn’t hinder his 
having to yield to him at last,” I said, some thought 
suggesting this scene from Bible history — the history 
with which we had been most familiar from earliest 
childhood. 

Phil’s eyes brightened. 

“ ‘ Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a 
spear, and with a shield ; but I come to thee in the 
name of the Lord of hosts,’ ” he quoted, slowly. 
“ Boys,” hesitating a little, “ I think, if we go at 
all, we had better go as David did.” 

“ Yes,” I answered, reading the thought in his 
eyes. 

So Phil, with a voice not quite steady, prayed 
just a few brief boyish words of prayer for help 
and deliverance. 

Do you smile, O reader, thinking our trouble a 


68 


WE THREE. 


very little thing? It was not so to us; but we 
grew stronger and more hopeful pondering David’s 
words of assurance : 

“All this assembly shall know that the Lord 
saveth not with sword or spear, for the battle is the 
Lord’s, and he will give you into our hands.” 

It was a strange morning that we passed in 
school that day — with the other boys, yet feeling so 
far away from them, as if only our bodies were left 
to their world, while our real selves were far away. 
As we grow older we learn more and more the 
isolation which any secret burden-bearing brings, 
and to every soul there come times when it must 
stand solemnly, fearfully alone. But we had only 
reached the threshold of this knowledge then. 

We had taken our dinner with us that day, as 
we were accustomed to do occasionally, and it was 
soon disposed of. 

“ Now,” said Phil, and silently we donned our 
caps and overcoats and proceeded upon our mission. 

The home of the Camps was a low, small, oddly- 
built house, sadly lacking paint, and suffering from 
lack of care in many ways. There were children 
younger than our three acquaintances, and in sum- 
mer-time the house had an appearance of overflow- 
ing with children; they were always leaning out 
the windows, hanging on the gate or chasing each 
other through the weeds that flourished in the yard. 
But the cold weather had driven them all within- 
doors now, and our opening the gate was only no- 


WE THREE. 


69 


ticed by a great, shaggy, ill-used-looking dog that 
sprang toward us growling savagely. His noise 
attracted attention. 

“ Git out there !” called a loud voice ; and then 
we saw that Mr. Camp was out in an old shed near 
the house mending a broken wheelbarrow. We 
were not quite sure whether the order was addressed 
to us or to the dog, neither did the animal seem 
quite sure. 

“Git out!” was shouted again. This time the 
dog sullenly obeyed, but his owner did not invite 
us to “ get in,” or pay any attention to whether we 
were doing so or not until we stood beside him. 
We waited a minute, vainly expecting him to look 
up, then Phil, our spokesman, said, 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Camp.” 

He raised a hard, coarse face, and looked at us 
with eyes that had an angry redness in them not 
unlike those of the dog. 

“ Humph !” he grunted — speaking it could not 
be called. 

“ We came to see if you wouldn’t help us about 
something,” proceeded Phil, not much reassured by 
our reception. 

“ It’s all I can do to help myself and ’tend to 
my own affairs,” was the surly reply ; and the man 
drove another nail into the barrow. 

“ But you see, Mr. Camp, we think this is your 
affair,” Phil urged. “ It’s about the boys — Eph, 
Bill and—” 


70 


WE THREE. 


“ Don’t want to hear nothing about them !” he 
broke out, fiercely. “ I hear more about them every 
day than I want to. If you don’t like their do- 
ings, fix them yourself.” 

“ We’re not big enough ; you can see that your- 
self; if we had been, we wouldn’t have come to 
you,” responded Phil, explicitly. 

The red-black eyes surveyed us for an instant as 
if estimating our combined strength, then he mut- 
tered, 

“ Wait till ye git bigger, then.” 

“We can’t wait. We’ve never troubled them 
any way, but they are trying to drive us away from 
our work — work that we have got to do to earn 
our living.” 

“Work!” Mr. Camp’s tone was half growl, 
half sneer. “ Boys like you are mighty willing to 
work !” 

“ Yes, we are, because we need to do it,” Phil 
persisted. “We are hired to do the cutting over 
at the foundry, and your boys come down there at 
night and torment us so that we can’t half work ; 
besides, we’re afraid they’ll break or damage some- 
thing about the building. They threaten to do it.” 

“ Quit the job, then, if ye can’t do it ; who wants 
you to? Eph and Bill had a sight better right to 
it than you ; they live nearer, and they’ve worked 
some at the shop too. The place was theirs by 
right. ’Tain’t amazing they’re mad, and I don’t 
care nothing about it no way. Now, clear out!” 


WE THREE. 


71 


He fell to pounding on his barrow again, driving 
nail after nail most vigorously. We three looked 
at each other. Rob and I were equally ready to 
turn away, but something in Phil’s face said, “ Not 
yet.” He did not stir. 

We could not talk while that furious hammering: 
continued, but at last Mr. Camp stopped it to ask, 

“ Didn’t you hear me? What are you waiting 
for?” 

“ To do our errand,” Phil answered, resolutely. 

Perhaps the boy’s coolness and perseverance 
made some impression, for Mr. Camp threw down 
his hammer and looked at him again : 

“ What youngsters are you, anyhow?” 

“ Win ford, Robert and Philip — ” 

“ Who told you to come here?” 

“ Nobody ; we came ourselves because we didn’t 
know where to get any one else to help us, and we 
thought you might.” 

“ But you didn’t think I would, hey?” 

“ We thought you ought to, anyhow,” interposed 
Rob, with more indignation than respect. 

“ Yes, we did,” echoed Phil, decidedly. “You 
see, Mr. Camp, we have no father, and Uncle Mark 
died this winter, you know. We’ve got grand- 
mother and Agnes to take care of — we three boys. 
We got this place to help us do it, and we got it 
fairly too. Nobody offered it to us, but we heard 
that Mike was gone, and asked for it. We didn’t 
know anybody else wanted it ; and any way, if we 


72 


WE THREE . 


heard of it first, and asked for it first, we have the 
best right to it. If your boys were in a good place, 
it would be a mean thing for us to try to get it 
away, and it’s just as mean in them to want to take 
ours. You wouldn’t like it, Mr. Camp.” 

“ Who said I would ? It’s all I can do to ’tend 
to my own affairs and take the best I git a chance 
at. But it’s my own bread and butter I want, not 
other folks’.” He muttered the words in a low tone, 
as if more to himself than for our benefit. Then 
he suddenly faced us again, and added, “ The boys 
sha’n’t, neither. Mind, I don’t say they have not 
the best right to the job, and if you lose it or 
don’t suit they’ll be in for it ; but seeing you’ve 
got it first, I’ll go agin’ their workin’ to drive ye 
out.” 

“ That’s fair!” said Phil, with a brighter face. 
“We don’t ask anything only to be let alone as 
long as we are doing the work well enough to keep 
it ; and if you can stop the boys from — ” 

“ If I can ! Humph !” A look crossed his face 
that made me no longer wonder that his rough, 
lawless boys, who seemed to fear no one else, should 
be afraid of him. His unreasoning, brutal anger 
would be a fearful thing to meet. “ They won’t 
trouble ye no more,” he said, taking up his ham- 
mer again. 

We thanked him warmly, but he made no an- 
swer and seemed inclined to pay us no further at- 
tention, so we turned away. 


WE THREE. 


73 


“ We are carrying the head of our Goliath, are n’t 
we?” I said as we walked schoolward. 

“If he is only really dead,” Rob answered, 
hesitatingly. 

“ I think he is,” said Phil, in a tone of relief 
and satisfaction. 

That night we sought the mill and accomplished 
our work undisturbed, nor were we troubled there- 
after. We sometimes met the Camps on our walks 
to and from school, and were greeted with looks 
sullen and unpleasant enough, but they paid us no 
more visits, nor attempted to molest us in any way. 


CHAPTER IV. 


WISH I knew some way to get rich in a 
hurry ,” Rob used to say, impatiently, that 
winter, usually when he had spent an hour 
or two in mending his old skates and could 
not succeed in making new ones of them. 

Phil wished the same thing for graver reasons. 
It troubled him that the old clothing must be so 
persistently made over instead of replaced, that 
many little luxuries had vanished from our home, 
and that the question was no longer how to get 
things, but how to do without them. Especially it 
troubled him when he found that Agnes was now 
making a dress for Mrs. McKenzie, now doing a 
bit of sewing for some other neighbor for pay. 
Agnes could not seek any employment away from 
home. Grandmother’s age and need of her pre- 
vented that, and her hands were so full of cares 
and duties that she had little time for any extra 
work where she was. It troubled her that she 
could do so little, but Phil was troubled that she 
had need to do so much. 

“ Dig ! dig ! dig ! What a scratching for a liv- 

74 



WE THREE. 


75 


ing!” said Rob, throwing his shovel down one 
night, and himself beside it. 

“ Rather too much scratching; a little deeper 
digging would have been better,” answered Phil, 
surveying Rob’s work. 

Rob did not seem to notice. He picked up part 
of a newspaper that had served as a wrapping for 
some bundle and had been thrown aside by the 
workmen, and studied it contentedly while Phil 
shoveled over a part of his sand more thoroughly. 
Some unnecessary energy Phil put into his work, 
as if not well pleased at having it to do; but if he 
meditated any elder-brotherly lecture, Rob sur- 
prised him out of his purpose. 

“ There, now ! Some sense in that, if a fellow 
could only get one of them,” exclaimed Rob. 

“One of what?” I asked. 

“ Prizes. Just listen : 

“ Grand gift enterprise. Three hundred thou- 
sand dollars to be distributed in gifts. First 
grand cash premium fifty thousand dollars; Sec- 
ond, twenty-five thousand dollars,” read Rob. 
“ Then there’s two of ten thousand dollars and 
two more of five thousand each, and ten of one 
thousand dollars; and after that smaller ones, 
and lots of pianos, carriages, watches, and every- 
thing.” 

Phil had stopped to listen. “How much are 
the tickets ?” he asked. 

“Three dollars,” answered Rob. “I just wish 


76 


WE THREE. 


we could try for that biggest one. Fifty thousand 
dollars ! Oh, wouldn’t I like to have it !” 

“ We wouldn’t be likely to get it if we did try,” 
said Phil. 

“Somebody’ll get it, and it’s just as likely to be 
one ticket as another,” persisted Rob ; “ and any 
way, there’s lots more prizes.” 

“ Well, we haven’t the money for a ticket,” re- 
plied Phil, taking up his shovel again. 

“If there was a fortune in the bottom of the 
river, we couldn’t buy a fish-hook to draw it up 
with, I suppose,” muttered Rob, discontentedly. 
“We’ll always be poor.” 

He threw the paper aside presently, but before 
we started for home I saw Phil pick it up and put 
it in his pocket. The subject had a fascination for 
us all, and in a little while our conversation turned 
to it again. 

“Won’t the one that gets that highest premium 
be surprised, though !” burst forth Rob as we 
walked along the snowy road. “ If he is some 
poor fellow, he’ll hardly know what to do with 
himself.” 

“ He will scarcely believe it, and will read the 
words over and over again to be sure,” I added, 
trying to fancy how it would seem to me. 

“Wouldn’t it seem queer,” said Phil, taking up 
the subject, “ if it were us, you know, to get such 
word, and then go into the house where grand- 
mother and Agnes were planning how to get along 


WE THREE. 


77 


and listen to them for a minute, knowing that we 
were rich enough to buy them everything they 
wanted? It would be a different sort of listening 
from any I have done lately,” he concluded, with a 
sigh. 

“ We’d all pack up and be out of this place in a 
hurry,” said Rob. 

“ No ; we’d keep the old home and fix it up into 
one of the prettiest places in the country. Grand- 
mother would never want to leave it,” interposed 
Phil. 

“ Well, yes, we could do that,” acquiesced Rob, 
obligingly. “ It would make a splendid country- 
seat, as they call ’em ; and of course we’d keep 
plenty of horses and carriages, and could drive into 
town whenever we liked. Wouldn’t it be fun to 
help some of the folks about here, though ! I’d 
buy Mrs. McKenzie one of those sewing-machines 
such as she saw at a fair once and has never stopped 
talking about since. One hundred dollars, I be- 
lieve it was, or one hundred and twenty-five, I 
don’t know which.” 

“ It won’t matter particularly if you don’t find 
out the exact price to-night,” I remarked, laughing 
at his sudden earnestness ; and the subject dropped 
again. 

But when we were in bed and the light out, 
Phil tossed about uneasily, and finally startled me 
from my first nap by the observation, 

“ It wouldn’t be right to take the three dollars 


78 


WE THREE. 


out of our wages, Win, when we are not sure of 
drawing anything?” 

“No.” I roused myself sufficiently to compre- 
hend his not very intelligible sentence. “ No ; 
grandmother needs every cent of that for us to 
Jive on.” 

Phil's head turned on its pillow again, and he 
said no more, but he did not stop thinking ; and 
when, a day or two after, one of the foundry-men 
paid him fifty cents for doing some writing, he 
laid the silver half dollar by itself. 

“ For that ?” I questioned, significantly. 

Phil nodded ; and catching the idea, we were all 
three very watchful for odd jobs after that. I sold 
a text-book I no longer used to a schoolmate, and 
Fob w'ent with Silas Grey one Saturday when he 
drove some cattle to town. Phil and I were some- 
what doubtful whether he would be a help or a 
hindrance, but Silas paid him for the trip. It took 
weeks to earn the money, but at last we obtained 
the desired amount, and I was deputed to write the 
letter, Phil and Fob looking over my shoulder 
while I did it — a very innocent, ordinary-looking 
letter when it was sealed and addressed, but it 
seemed of momentous importance to us. 

“We won't say anything to grandmother or Ag- 
nes, and then, if it doesn't turn out well, nobody 
will be disappointed but we,” said Phil. 

What a fever of impatience we were in after that ! 

“ Hope it will go safe. I declare, it would be a 


WE THREE. 79 

shame if that letter should get lost// Rob remarked 
almost daily. 

The old postmaster must have been surprised at 
our suddenly-awakened interest in his office and 
frequent inquiry for letters. Ours was but a small 
village, where everybody knew everybody else; and 
when our looked-for answer came, the old man 
scanned it curiously before he handed it over. 

“ Rockport ! Why, I didn’t know you had any 
friends there.” 

“ I didn’t, either,” answered Rob, more impa- 
tiently than respectfully, hurrying away with his 
treasure. 

“ If w T e just knew whether this particular num- 
ber meant a fortune or not !” said Phil, wistfully 
studying the figures upon the ticket ; but that bit 
of pasteboard told no secrets, and we laid it away 
to wait. 

Our little room, with its sloping whitewashed 
ceiling, was the scene of some grand castle-build- 
ings in those days, or rather nights. A stove-pipe 
ran up from the kitchen below and partly warmed 
the chamber, and we three huddled close around it 
night after night, talking in low tones, and laying 
such brilliantly impossible plans as only boyhood 
can know. 

“ If it only should come out right, what lots of 
good we could do with the money, besides all the 
fun !” Rob would say, in thoughtful mood. 

“ The very things we shall have for ourselves 


80 


WE THREE. 


will be a help to others — books and pictures and 
such things,” I added, dreamily. “ I ? ll have to 
forget how much Fve wanted them myself before 
I can grow selfish about letting other people enjoy 
mine.” 

“ Seems to me I shall always be ready to help 
fellows that want to study and are trying to climb 
up to be somebody,” said Phil. “ I say, boys, I 
don’t believe we’ll any of us be sorry that we have 
been poor for a while; it will make us think and 
notice more about such things always.” 

“ Of course not, if it comes out all right, the 
way things do in books. If it should be so, 
though,” said Rob, hesitatingly, “ wouldn’t it seem 
real hard that Uncle Mark died just before the 
good times came ?” 

Occasionally our visions were less benevolent. 
We planned brilliant adventures and delightful 
journeys; or growing business-like and practical, 
we proposed to buy the foundry, and talked gravely 
of the improvements and additions we should wish 
to make. Wild boyish dreams ! But from cher- 
ishing them so constantly we began to believe in 
them, and what had at first seemed a bare possi- 
bility grew in our thoughts to a probability. The 
slow routine of every-day life seemed irksome, and 
little privations were harder to bear than ever be- 
fore. A feverish unrest had taken possession of us 
and robbed our accustomed pursuits of nearly all 
interest. 


WE THREE. 


81 


“If I only knew that something would come 
in a few weeks, nobody’d catch me bothering over 
this,” Rob would exclaim over some task of path- 
making or wood-chopping; and the mere if les- 
sened his euergy and made him do his work less 
thoroughly. 

“Rob, you’re not half shoveling,” Phil said, 
rather sharply, one night when Rob was tossing up 
the sand in a slow, indolent sort of way. “You’ll 
make us trouble if you are not careful, and we 
may lose our place.” 

“ Maybe it won’t make much difference to us 
in a few weeks from now if we do,” responded 
Rob. “ Heigho ! Wish I could be certain of it, 
and I’d never dig in this old shop another night ; 
I’m sick of it.” 

“Well, we’re not sure of anything of the sort; 
and if we were, it would be mean not to do our 
work well and to make other people trouble,” an- 
swered Phil ; but in the next breath he added, “ I 
wish it could be different, though. I’m tired 
enough of this way of doing myself.” 

And yet a little while before we had been so 
anxious for that very work ! So readily do the 
blessings of yesterday become the burdens of to- 
day. 

We were not likely to forget the time on which 
the lottery-drawing was to take place, and after 
that we counted the days until the important intel- 
ligence could reach us. It came in the shape of a 
6 


82 


WE THREE. 


printed paper containing a list of the drawings; 
and hurrying up to our room, we pored over it to- 
gether. No fifty thousand was ours, nor twenty- 
five thousand, nor any thousand, nor even hundred. 
Our beautiful castles fell story by story as we 
searched the page, and were wellnigh in the dust 
by the time we reached the number of our ticket. 
It was there, and had drawn a prize — what, was not 
stated. “ No space for details in regard to smaller 
premiums, ” the paper announced. 

“ It may not be so bad, after all,” said Rob, his 
face brightening again. “ It’s pretty certain to be 
more than enough to pay us our money back, and 
it may be something we can sell for a nice little lot 
of cash. Who knows ?” 

“I suppose we had better send for it?” said Phil, 
slowly, half questioningly. 

“Yes. There isn’t any express-office here, though ; 
it can only come to Chester. But, Phil, there’s the 
expressage, you know.” 

“ I’ve been thinking of that,” answered Phil. 
“ But we needn’t pay until it comes ; and if we write 
now, it can’t get here until the last of next week. 
I can go to Chester Saturday; and if it’s any little 
thing, I can get it, for I have fifty cents ; and if it’s 
large enough to cost more than that, it will prob- 
ably be worth so much that we can afford to spend 
some of our wages to pay for it, and we’ll leave it 
there till Monday.” 

“ I wish it would be either a horse or a melo- 


WE THREE. 


83 


deon,” said Rob, after a long pause. “ Well, I 
know they ain’t a bit alike,” he added, as we 
laughed ; “ but if it was a melodeon, Agnes could 
learn to play on it, and then give lessons, and it 
would be a great deal better than doing sewing for 
folks. If it was a horse, we’d get some kind of a 
cart or a wagon and make a good deal of money 
by teaming.” 

“ He would be a troublesome parcel to send by 
express,” I suggested. 

“ But that isn’t a bad idea — about having a horse, 
I mean,” said Phil. “ We’d better think about 
it, boys, and work along toward it if we can.” 

“ Yes; there are ways enough to get along if a 
fellow is only smart enough to see them,” declared 
Rob, quite complacent over Phil’s commendation. 

We hurried through with our work when Satur- 
day came, and by afternoon it was all done but the 
wood-splitting. Rob and I volunteered to finish 
that, and Phil started on his two-mile walk to 
Chester. We watched him from the old red gate 
until he was out of sight, calculated how long it 
would take him to go out and return, and then Rob 
ran into the house to see the time, that we might 
know just when to expect him. 

Nat and Dan McKenzie came in full of a snow- 
ball battle that had taken place on the common, 
but even that exciting topic failed to interest us 
very deeply ; our eyes were constantly wandering 
down the road. 


84 


WE THREE. 


“ ‘ What do you see now, Sister Annie V ” quoted 
Nat, at last noticing our glances. “ You two fel- 
lows are as bad as Bluebeard’s wife. Where’s 
Phil?” 

“ Gone to Chester.” 

“ What for?” 

“Some way, I never really believed that story 
about Bluebeard — not just exactly,” said Dan, with 
such unusual quickness for him that I escaped an- 
swering the last question. 

“Don’t you, now? You oughtn’t to get into a 
way of not believing things, Dan ; you’ll soon be 
thinking there’s no truth in the forty thieves if 
you’re not careful,” said Nat, reprovingly. 

“ I don’t believe she couldn’t scour that spot off 
the key,” persisted Dan. 

Nat had pulled off his mittens and was good- 
naturedly assisting in our work, and Dan, when he 
comprehended the movement, slowly followed his 
example ; yet I was sorry to have them stay, and 
even the company-loving Bob looked relieved when 
little Kitty McKenzie came for them. 

“ I was afraid they might stay till Phil came,” 
he said. 

But we had time to finish our wood and wait for 
half an hour at the gate before Phil arrived, walk- 
ing slowly and not quite like a bearer of good tid- 
ings, though he carried a brown-paper parcel on 
his arm. 

“ Wait,” he said as we began to question ; and 


WE THREE. 


85 


walking into the shed, he threw down the package, 
which Rob and I hastily opened. 

Only a few pounds of nails and two pairs of 
iron hinges ! We stared at them in silence for a 
moment, then looked at Phil. 

“That all?” exclaimed Rob. “Three dollars 
for just that !” 

“ Such hard-earned money, too !” I added, mourn- 
fully. “ And it would have bought the new shoes 
that grandmother needs, or a dress for Agnes, 
or — ” 

“Or a great many things that there is no use 
thinking of,” interposed Phil. 

“ A few miserable nails ! I’d have thrown them 
away !” declared Rob, indignantly. 

“I thought there had been enough throwing 
away,” answered Phil, quietly, but rather bitterly. 
“We’ll keep these to mend the barn and shed with, 
and not try such nonsense again.” 

It was a disconsolate, sober-faced trio that filed 
in to supper that night. I think we had not re- 
alized until then how confidently we had counted 
upon something that should change all our future, 
nor how far we had wandered, in spirit at least, from 
our old duties, pleasures and cheerful efforts. It 
was hard to settle down contentedly and feel that 
we “had nothing to expect,” as Rob phrased it. 
His secret discontent flamed out when in the course 
of the evening grandmother spoke of some plan 
for turning the garden to account in the spring : 


86 


WE THREE. 


“ I wish I knew some way to get rich in a 
hurry !” 

“ I don’t know of any such way that is honest 
or safe,” she answered, slowly. “I don’t think 
God ever lets us go across lots for any good.” 

I glanced at Phil as he sat in the glow of the 
firelight, but he did not raise his eyes, though I’m 
sure he heard. 


CHAPTER V. 


IE must make the most we can of our gar- 
den this year,” remarked grandmother one 
March morning when a gleam of warm 
sunshine reminded us that spring had really 
come. 

“ More than we ever have done before,” answered 
Phil, with the prompt, decided air of one who had 
already considered the subject. 

It was natural that he should have thought of 
it, for the garden-work had fallen chiefly to us boys 
for several years, though under Uncle Mark’s di- 
rection, and with no attempt at doing more than 
raising a few vegetables for our own use. 

“I’ve been thinking we’d better plant all our 
ground this year and sell such things as we do not 
need for ourselves,” said Phil, hesitating a little at 
putting his plan fully into words. “Don’t you 
think we might?” 

“ Perhaps we might. I think it is worth trying, 
at any rate,” answered grandmother, hopefully. 

“Sell!” commented Rob, in his important fash- 
ion. “ Why, nearly all the folks about here raise 
what they want for themselves.” 


87 


88 


WE THREE. 


“ 1 About here ’ doesn’t happen to be all the 
world,” retorted Phil, briefly. 

That slightly contemptuous tone was one that he 
often used toward Rob of late — one that always 
brought a troubled look to Agnes’ eyes. But Rob 
did not seem to notice it. He caught at the words 
good-naturedly : 

“ Oh ! Go off somewdiere to sell them, you mean ? 
That’s a jolly notion. Make me peddler-in-chief, 
won’t you ?” 

“You’ll have to make yourself digger- in-chief 
first, Rob,” I laughed. “ There’s going to be hard 
work about it.” 

“ Who cares for work !” exclaimed Rob, tossing 
up his cap. 

“You don’t, to any alarming extent,” began 
Phil ; then, catching Agnes’ pleading glance, he 
added, laughingly, “ I suspect it’s the profits that 
we all are after.” 

“ If there were not profit in work itself, it would 
never have been given us to do,” said our grand- 
mother, quietly. 

Her experience aided and guided us in laying 
out our ground — “our farm,” we called it — that 
year. It meant more to us than it had ever done 
before ; our success or failure was of more conse- 
quence; and though the work was greater than 
usual, we brought more care and perseverance to it. 
“ Grandmother and Agnes ” proved a wonderfully 
steadying thought, and we had need of it. But for 


WE THREE . 


89 


that, the soft spring sunshine would often have 
tempted us to do our work in a careless boy-fashion, 
and the voices of our schoolmates would have lured 
us into many a holiday that would have proved 
disastrous to our crops. “ We are not like them,” 
I whispered to myself more than once after such 
an invitation, and tried to realize that it was only 
a few months since Uncle Mark had stood between 
us and the weight of responsibility that had already 
grown to seem such an old burden. 

We indulged in some wild and ambitious schemes, 
but for the most part our plans were sober and 
practical enough. 

“ I wish we had enlarged our strawberry-bed 
last year,” said Phil, regretfully. “I’m almost 
sure we could have made something from that. 
Strawberries sell well.” 

“ It’s too late now,” said Rob. 

“Not for next year. We must look ahead a 
little.” 

“Well, yes.” Rob wanted all his notes pay- 
able at sight. “ There are the raspberry-bushes, 
Phil ; they might come to something if they were 
trimmed.” 

That suggestion was really worth something, and 
we acted upon it. New strawberry-beds were also 
made and plants secured. All our available time 
before and after school and our Saturdays we de- 
voted to our “ farm-work.” We grew very proud 
of the appearance our domain presented, too, as the 


90 


WE THREE. 


weeks passed on, and grandmother and Agnes were 
unstinted in their praise. 

“ But the worst of it’s to come yet,” said Bob, 
half disconsolately. “ It’s the long, miserable weed- 
ing-time that tries men’s souls.” 

“Never mind; we’ll have more time. It will 
soon be vacation,” said Phil, cheerily. 

He at least showed no lack of courage or reso- 
lution ; he was in thorough earnest and very hope- 
ful. Rob often grew discouraged and impatient as 
the long days came and went; he found many 
plausible excuses for neglect, and not unfrequently 
deserted his work entirely for some fishing-excur- 
sion or sail on the river. Afterward, in a fit of 
penitence or because of some new proposal that 
renewed his interest, he would do his part faith- 
fully for a time, and prove exceedingly industrious 
until the next temptation came. For myself, I 
think my love of books and dreaming might often 
have conquered but for Phil’s example. His 
steady perseverance held me also. I wondered 
sometimes at his swift growth in manliness in 
those few months; but it reminded me constantly 
of our changed lives and our need of exertion. 
Fortunately, it was a favorable season. Sun and 
rain seemed alike interested in our garden, and 
everything promised finely. 

“ There’ll be lots of raspberries. Some of them 
are ripening now,” announced Rob one evening. 
“We can carry them to town in baskets, but how 


WE THREE. 


91 


about the other things if they do well ? It won’t 
be so easy to carry vegetables and all that.” 

“We must hire a wagon,” said Phil. “I’ve 
been thinking we can get Downey Grey’s and his 
old horse. He wouldn’t charge but little, for he 
doesn’t use them much except in winter for haul- 
ing ice.” 

“If we just had a horse and wagon of our own, 
now !” began Rob. 

“ Perhaps we may have by another year,” I an- 
swered ; and then we sat down on the low porch 
while the moon came up over the hill, thinking 
youth’s “ long, long thoughts ” and planning for- 
ward until we were independent market-gardeners, 
owning all the land around us and sending our 
produce to all the neighboring towns in neat wag- 
ons bearing the name of “ Howland Brothers.” 

It was hard work to abandon such grandeur for 
our work of “ shoveling over ” at the foundry when 
Agnes came to tell us the time ; yet we started off 
the more cheerily because of our pleasant dream- 
ings. From every narrow gateway life seemed to 
open so invitingly wide in those days that our 
thoughts were always leaping from our small be- 
ginnings to splendid endings. 

Rob’s predictions concerning the raspberries were 
verified; they ripened in goodly quantities, large 
and fine, and we found a ready market for them. 
Morning after morning we were up with the first 
gleam of dawn, busily picking the fruit and arrang- 


92 


WE THREE . 


ing it in boxes, and then hurrying away on our 
two-mile walk to town, for it required rapid work 
to accomplish it all before school-time. We were 
fully compensated for the toil and trouble in the 
increased comfort the money brought to our home 
and the strangely pleasant feeling of helpfulness it 
gave us. We laughed at Nat McKenzie’s pity. 

“ Though I wouldn’t mind earning some money 
myself,” added Nat, half enviously. 

“ I think it would be sort of nicer if a feller didn’t 
have to work himself to death to git a livin’,” re- 
marked Dan, in perplexity. “ Seems as if there 
wasn’t no real easy ways of gittin’ along.” 

“ Dan, you’d better keep that for your next week’s 
composition. It’ll surprise everybody,” said Nat, 
gravely. 

Vacation gave us more time, and we went to 
“ farming in good earnest,” as Agnes called it. We 
engaged Downey Grey’s horse and wagon at reason- 
able terms, and that seemed an eventful day on 
which we sent off our first load — beans, beets, 
radishes and lettuce. We had arranged them with 
as much pride and care as a florist would bestow 
upon his choicest plants, and we were sure they 
looked fresh and inviting enough to tempt city eyes. 
We were all eager to take part in the expedition, 
but that was mordthan we could afford. 

“ It will never do to take all our men from the 
farm at once,” laughed Phil. “ One can do as well 
alone, and we must take turns at going to market.” 



The Successful Gardeners. 


Page 93. 

























































































































WE THREE. 


93 


He was to go first. Grandmother had given him 
a list of articles needed, that he might know what 
to take in exchange for his produce if he should 
be successful in disposing of it ; and Rob and I 
watched him as he drove away. 

“ And I suppose the town-people will just eat 
up all those things for their dinner and never 
think that they are anything more than common 
vegetables,” said Rob, half dolefully, half com- 
ically, as we went back to our work. 

We had not expected Phil to return before noon, 
and we started in surprise when in less than two 
hours we heard his cheerful “ Plulloa !” and looked 
up to see his triumphant face, and wagon emptied 
of everything but some promising parcels in brown 
paper. 

“ Sold everything right off and didn’t have a bit 
of trouble,” he explained, eagerly, as we ran to the 
gate to meet him. “ Only went to two stores. All 
our things were so nice and fresh, you know*; and 
they’ll take more. I got higher prices than we 
expected, too, for most of them,” he added, turning 
to grandmother, as she and Agnes also came out to 
the wagon. “See! I have some money left, be- 
sides getting everything you sent for and he 
dropped the change into her hand. 

I think no other success of my life can ever 
bring the perfect pleasure of that boyish one; no 
other can ever seem so sweet and complete. The 
sunlight fell so brightly around our little group 


94 


WE THREE. 


that day, crowning every head, and the world 
seemed so beautiful just then. Mr. McKenzie saw 
us standing there, and crossed the street to speak to 
us. A lame hand had kept him from the shop : 

“ Have you set up your carriage, Phil, my boy, 
or what’s happened to you all ?” 

Kob told the story with sparkling eyes, and our 
kind-hearted neighbor seemed wonderfully pleased : 

“ IPs well done, that it is ! A good plan well 
carried out, and shows what I call real downright 
pluck. If your Uncle Mark could have known — ” 
He checked himself suddenly, with a deprecatory 
glance toward our grandmother. 

“ I think he does know,” she answered, simply, 
in her quiet fashion. 

Afterward, when we went back to the house, I 
heard her quavering voice singing some lines from 
an old hymn : 

“One army of the living God, 

To his command we bow; 

Part of the host have crossed the flood, 

And part are crossing now.” 

Only one army ! — that comforted her. One King, 
one service, whether stationed near the throne or 
on earth’s lonely outposts. 

It is a pity that human ambition is such an over- 
weening thing. We calculated everything very 
closely in the two or three days that followed, and 
every vegetable seemed to represent just so many 


WE THREE. 


95 


cents. Rob was particularly sanguine and visionary ; 
and when market-day came again, and he was to 
take charge of the wagon and its contents, his air 
was that of one so impressed with magnificent pos- 
sibilities that Phil looked after him uneasily : 

“ He acts as if he had some new notion in his 
head, and Pm afraid he’ll contrive to make mis- 
chief in some way.” 

The fear deepened when the time for his return 
came and no Rob appeared. Hours passed ; every 
one wondered and grew anxious, and it was near 
the middle of the afternoon before he arrived. 
Then he drove slowly up and called out to us 
rather irritably to open the gate. 

“What kept you so long?” demanded Phil and 
I in a breath. 

“ Everything,” he answered, shortly. 

“ Didn’t sell everything, after all ?” questioned 
Phil, in disappointment, as he discovered some 
withered lettuce and drooping asparagus still in 
the wagon. 

“ No. I didn’t get full price for what I did sell, 
either.” 

“Why not? Did you go to Mr. Hartley’s — 
where I told you ?” 

“ Yes. He said these things were not as fresh as 
the others ; and besides — ” 

“ Why, they were !” I interposed. 

“Just wait a minute, and I’ll tell you all about 
it,” said Rob, half ashamed, half defiant and 


96 


WE THREE. 


wholly cross. a You see, I knew if the store- 
keepers paid us so much for the things, they must 
sell them for enough more to make some profit 
themselves; so I thought I might as well go 
around to the houses and get the highest price for 
us. I expect Fd have done it, too, if I hadn’t met 
that Jim Barclay. He thought it would be fun to 
go along, and he said he knew streets up town a 
good way from the stores where the folks would 
be sure to buy ; so we drove round ever so far. I 
don’t know whether the people up there never eat 
anything, or whether they have gardens of their 
own ; but any way, they scarcely bought a thing. 
Jim kept teasing me to go here and there to try, 
but at last I went back to the stores. Mr. Hartley 
said he had bought nearly all he wanted for to-day ; 
and then he wasn’t willing to pay as much because 
they were not quite fresh. I think he was dread- 
fully particular.” 

“ What else could you expect ? I wish we had 
been too particular to trust you with the load. 
You never can let well enough alone,” said Phil, 
with sharp impatience. 

“ I can let your stupid garden-work well enough 
alone : I’ll promise you that,” retorted Rob, angrily. 

“Hush, dear! It is too bad. It was a mis- 
take, but of course Rob was trying to do the best 
he could for us all,” began Agnes, trying to smooth 
matters. But Rob interrupted her : 

“ Of course. But Phil thinks no one has a right 


WE THREE . 


97 


to any plans but himself. I should think I’d 
worked enough on that old patch to have a right 
to try my own way once in a while, but it seems I 
haven’t, and I won’t dig there any more in a 
hurry.” 

He walked away fast enough to check Phil’s 
provoking answer, and left us standing, vexed and 
disappointed, by the gate. If he had told us his 
purpose, we should have overruled it, and it 
seemed hard to lose so much fruit of our toil — 
money so needed too — for a boy’s willful scheme. 
But the worst of it was the loss to Rob himself — to 
Rob and to Phil. 

For days Rob deserted the garden and made no 
effort to share its labor. Phil, indignant, paid no 
attention to him, and the boy, all the more stub- 
born because he secretly blamed himself and felt 
thoroughly uncomfortable, assumed an air of lei- 
surely independence, and wandered off on long idle 
strolls. I grew uneasy about him, but Agnes finally 
won him back. Our market-trips prospered again, 
Phil and I taking charge of them alternately; but 
Rob asked no questions concerning them, and 
worked in a listless sort of way, as if he had lost 
liis interest in the whole matter. 

“ Phil, this won’t do,” I said one evening. “ It 
is ‘ we three,’ you know, and we’ll soon have Rob 
out of the partnership if we’re not careful. We 
ought to have him take his turn with the wagon. 
He won’t try such a nonsensical plan again.” 

7 


98 


WE THREE. 


“ Not if I can help it,” answered Phil, coolly. 
“ The only safe way is not to give him a chance.” 

u He won’t stand that long. It isn’t fair, either. 
He works — ” 

“ When he feels like it,” interposed Phil. “ It’s 
no use talking, Win ; we can’t afford to trust him. 
He had no right to risk what was ours as well as 
his without asking us about it. It was dishonest — 
that’s the long and short of it.” 

I had thought we two were alone, but Agnes 
arose from her seat in the vine-shadowed doorway 
and paused a moment with her hand on Phil’s 
shoulder. 

“ Do you never wonder, Philip, whether the Bible 
verse that calls the Lord i our Elder Brother ’ can 
be a very precious one to Bob ?” she asked, her lip 
quivering a little, though her voice was calm. Then 
she passed into the house without waiting for an 
answer. 

Phil’s face changed its determined look to one 
not easily read ; but he said uothing, and I did not 
resume the subject. The next morning, however, 
he remarked, with seeming carelessness, 

“ Bob, I think it is your turn to go to town to- 
day. Win and I want to weed those strawberry- 
beds.” 

Bob’s eyes brightened, but he answered indiffer- 
ently, 

“ Well, I suppose I can go if you want me to.” 

This time the business was faithfully and 


WE THREE. 


99 


promptly despatched. No one made any comments 
upon it, but Rob was himself again, and matters 
dropped into their old routine. 

Yet it could scarcely be called an old routine, 
since all that summer — so full of thought and 
steady, persevering toil — was a new experience to us. 
Agnes mourned a little over the neglected books, 
but our grandmother smiled content with the les- 
. sons we were learning. For the most part, we were 
fortunate in our undertakings — not always; and 
we discovered that human probabilities are won- 
drously unreliable. 

“ Fm glad of this rain,” said Phil, one after- 
noon when a light shower had kept us in-doors for 
a time ; “ we needed it. It’s well we finished those 
strawberry-beds before it came. They’re all in 
prime order now, and there’s not much danger but 
that they’ll do well, and we can make something 
from them next year.” 

Rob, walking from window to window with his 
hat in his hand, impatient to be out, began an an- 
nouncement that it had stopped raining, then sud- 
denly interrupted himself with a startled “ Holloa!” 
and springing from the open window ran down the 
walk at full speed. 

“ What’s the matter ?” asked Agnes, in surprise. 

But Phil and I saw at a glance. A neighbor’s 
pigs had taken possession of the garden through 
the gate, which Kitty McKenzie had thoughtlessly 
left unfastened. We followed Rob, and after a few 


100 


WE THREE. 


minutes’ chase the intruders were driven out, but 
our poor strawberry-beds were torn, trampled and 
rooted almost beyond recognition. 

“ They have had a good chance while we were 
in-doors. Must have been here almost an hour,” 
said Rob, breathlessly, as we walked back to the 
house. “ It’s a shame ! too bad to have it happen 
just now !” 

Too bad of whom ? We did not ask that ques- 
tion, or even think of it. We only felt that our 
long hard work had been wasted, and we were 
angry, disappointed and discouraged. 

“ I thought it was the surest thing we had, and 
it has come to nothing,” I said, bitterly. 

“ Not quite so bad as that, I hope,” said grand- 
mother. 

“ If you just saw it, you’d think so,”’ burst 
forth Rob. “ The vines are all broken and torn 
up. I don’t see much use in working if things 
have got to turn out this way, when we do the 
very best we can.” 

Phil sat silent and moody. It was no slight 
loss or vexation to him, but after a little while he 
looked up as if half ashamed of his despond- 
ency. 

“Well, ‘ there’s no use in crying over spilled 
milk.’ We had better look after the beds, and if 
there are any plants that are good for anything put 
them back in the ground while it’s cloudy and 
damp enough to give them a chance for life.” 


WE THREE. 


101 


Then, as he saw I hesitated, he added, in a low 
tone, “We are worrying grandmother, Win.” 

It was toilsome, dispiriting work over the ruins, 
trying to bring the place to order again — great 
hollows to be filled up, borders evened, tangled 
vines thrown away and plants replaced. It was 
slow work too, busying us until nearly sunset ; and 
when we had done our best, the beds presented an 
aspect woefully different from the vigorous life of 
the morning. 

“ That’s all that’s left, and we must make the 
best of it,” said Phil, taking a parting survey of 
the ground. “We’ll have to count that among the 
failures.” 

How differently successes and failures must be 
written up above from what we mark them here 
below! We could not know that day that the 
lesson in meeting disappointment, and setting 
steadily to work to remedy misfortune instead of 
weakly yielding to it, was worth far more to us 
than all other profits our strawberry-vines could 
have yielded. 

The summer waned and the bright autumn days 
came. Our supply of winter vegetables had been 
stored in the cellar and the last load we had for 
sale despatched to market. Counting up every- 
thing, we had done well — better than we could 
have expected. 

“We have lived, and we haven’t run in debt,” 
said Rob, triumphantly. 


102 


WE THREE. 


“But we have only just lived. We haven’t 
saved anything. We have bought almost nothing 
in the way of clothing, either, and the old is wear- 
ing out,” answered Phil, sadly. 

But Agnes had arranged some evergreens in a 
motto above the old fireplace, and it smiled down 
upon us now : 

“ Jehovah Jireh.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

(cfm HE frosty mornings that sent careful house- 
^jlj| keepers to looking over their stores of win- 
ter clothing, and the chilly evenings that 

cQ made bright fires so pleasant, brought added 
perplexity to us, whose stores of clothing 
and fuel were undeniably low. 

“ If we were like those wild animals that creep 
into their dens and sleep all winter without need- 
ing anything to eat, it would save a deal of trouble,” 
I remarked, pondering the matter. 

“ Maybe we’ll grow like ’em in time. My paws 
seem to be turning bare pretty fast,” said Rob, 
stretching out his arms and displaying, half laugh- 
ing, half disconsolately, the jacket-sleeves that were 
some inches too short. 

Three healthy boys, we grew rapidly without 
any regard to the cost of new outfits. Grand- 
mother and Agnes stitched busily, altered and re- 
paired to the best of their ability, but the material 
for even this sort of work was not abundant, and 
Agnes, with a sigh, murmured something about 
“ making bricks without straw.” 

Phil brightened at that : 

“But we know now that they could have done it, 

103 


104 


WE THREE. 


Agnes; there was really a way if they had only 
known it.” 

“ They didn’t, though, and nobody else found it 
out until hundreds of years too late to be of any 
use to those poor Israelites,” answered Agnes. 
"If there is any way of making clothing out of 
nothing, I don’t suppose it will be learned in time 
to do us any good.” 

"Something better happened to the Israelites,” 
said our grandmother, slowly ; “ their cry came up 
unto God.” 

And he answered them. He would answer us, 
but our doubting hearts questioned how. Our 
summer’s work was ended — no winter’s work had 
come ; what should we do next ? 

In upon us one evening dropped Mr. McKenzie — 
a very unusual proceeding ; for although our kind- 
hearted neighbor often stopped by gate or fence for 
a chat, he very seldom entered the house: calling 
was not in his line. He accepted a seat by our fire 
and talked of the weather and various unimportant 
topics, and seemed so abstracted and ill at ease that 
it reminded me of another evening visit, and I 
whispered mischievously to Phil, 

" He acts as if he had come to ask for the work 
of 1 cutting sand’ at the foundry.” 

There seemed to be some subject that he was 
trying to coax into the light, but it would not come; 
and growing desperate, he finally laid violent hands 
upon it and dragged it forth unceremoniously : 


WE THREE. 


105 


“ Fact is I didn’t come jest to talk — that is, I 
had an errand,” he announced. “ There’s a place 
at the foundry; they want a boy to clean ware. 
’Tain’t no great place — pays some six dollars or 
thereabouts a week ; and it ain’t so poor a place, 
neither, for you see it’s a kind of beginnin’. Boys 
mostly do that first before they learn to mould. I 
didn’t know but Phil would have a mind for it. 
Didn’t know as he would, either, ’cause, you see, 
ma’am,” with a glance at grandmother, “ I didn’t 
know anything about your plans, any way. But I 
thought it wouldn’t do any harm to mention it. 
Moulder’s trade ain’t the worst in the world, 
though, to be sure, I don’t know how many would 
take to it if they could just pick and choose.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Phil broke it : 

“ You are very kind, Mr. McKenzie; we thank 
you, I’m sure. You think I can get this place?” 

“ Oh yes, if you want it.” 

“ I do — need it.” Phil changed the words slightly. 
His eyes sought grandmother’s, and he added, “ I 
think I will try it.” 

“ Well, then,” said Mr. McKenzie, rubbing his 
hands in satisfaction, as if he had accomplished 
some difficult task, “ I’ll just speak to Mr. Croy- 
den; an’ s’pose you come on Monday mornin’, 
say ?” 

Phil agreed to this, reiterated his thanks, and 
Mr. McKenzie presently departed. 

“ I suppose it isn’t just the sort of work you’d 


106 


WE THREE. 


like, Phil ?" I said, studying my brother's face a 
little doubtfully. 

“It's just the sort that's offered, and that's 
more to the purpose," he answered, quietly. 

“ It's six dollars a week, and I call that jolly," 
declared Rob. “ Wish somebody 'd give me a 
chance of that much, and I'd say yes in a hurry." 

Agnes looked both pleased and pained. The latter 
seemed to predominate, but at last she breathed a 
sigh of relief or resignation. 

“It needn't be for always, only for a little while, 
until something better comes," she said. 

Phil bade good-bye to school in the next two 
days — regretfully, I know, though he said nothing 
of that; and Monday morning saw him installed 
in the foundry. It was a relief to us in many 
ways, a steady income, though small, and with 
what Rob and I earned by our night-work at the 
shop it would enable us to live, if not to enjoy 
many luxuries. But this new employment sepa- 
rated us as nothing else had done. We missed 
him, Rob and I, in our plans, our work and studies. 
The school-room was changed to me ; its old cheer- 
ful aspect had gone, and I was restless and dissat- 
isfied. It seemed almost idleness to be sitting there 
while Phil toiled for us all ; the home-work that 
Rob and I took upon ourselves now appeared of 
little consequence. I was impatient for something 
else — so impatient that I did not half improve the 
next few weeks of study. 


WE THREE. 


107 


u Look here !” called Nat McKenzie, hurrying 
up the street after me one morning with his books 
under his arm. “ I want to tell you something — 
some news.” 

“ Well ?” I answered, indifferently, but pausing a 
moment for him, nevertheless. 

“ We got a letter from Scotland last night — father 
did. You can’t guess what was in it.” 

“ Scotland ? I didn’t know you had any friends 
there,” I said, without trying to solve the riddle. 

“ Father has ; not any that he knew, though, but 
his folks came from there. Guess.” 

“He wouldn’t be likely to guess money if he 
tried a week,” remarked Dan. 

“ Pshaw !” exclaimed Nat, in vexation. “ That’s 
it, though. Just think, Win ! two or three thou- 
sand dollars !” 

“ Not really ?” I questioned, quite eagerly enough 
to suit him at last. 

“ Yes, sir, really ! Not exactly money in the 
letter, you know, but it amounts to the same thing. 
It’s his whenever he’s a mind to send for it; the 
lawyer said so. It’s his share of some property 
that belonged to an uncle of his, and the uncle’s 
dead. He never knew him, either. Ain’t it gay ?” 

Nat mixed up matters somewhat in his excite- 
ment, but I comprehended the story, and as he 
rushed away to tell some other schoolmates I 
looked after him with something of envy beginning 
to blend with my surprise. Two or three thousand 


108 


WE THREE. 


dollars ! How much such a sum would be worth 
to us ! — the starting of a small store, or something 
that would be the beginning of business and setting 
up in life for us all. Why couldn’t it have come 
to us instead of — ? No, I wouldn’t wish their 
good tidings away from them ; but why could not 
such a thing happen to us ? 

I watched Nat often that day, so boyishly merry 
and glad he was. All that his grand news meant 
to him was a prospect of change and a good time. 
He had never, so far, had to take any thought or 
care. He had his home, comfortable if not lux- 
urious. They had a little money laid up, and his 
father still lived to plan and provide for them all. 
How much more such a letter would have meant to 
us ! It almost seemed as if Providence had made 
a mistake. That evening, on my homeward way, 
I stopped at the post-office and inquired for a let- 
ter. I could scarcely have told why, for I knew 
of no one in the wide world who would be likely 
to write to us. 

Rob rehearsed the story of the McKenzies at 
the tea-table, mingling his exclamations of pleasure 
at their good fortune with outspoken bewailings 
that somebody hadn’t left us “ a nice slice of some- 
thing in India, or somewhere.” 

“ We shall never have a slice from anybody’s 
loaf but our own, I fancy,” said Phil. 

“ Home-made bread always tastes the best, you 
know,” added Agnes, with a smile, but with a 


WE THREE. 


109 


wistful look in her eyes, as if her words had cov- 
ered her thought, not expressed it. 

It takes long to learn to view our lot in life as it 
is in itself, and not in contrast with that of our neigh- 
bor. Our path really seemed to me the darker in 
those days because of the light that had fallen on 
the McKenzies. As the weeks went by the bequest 
from Scotland arrived, and Nat, in careless frank- 
ness, talked of their prospects and projects. I grew 
bitter sometimes, and proved so unsympathizing a 
listener that any one less good-natured than Nat 
would have left me in anger. His father had de- 
cided to leave the village. A farm had been his 
ideal of comfort always, and now that he had the 
means he would sell their little house, move farther 
West and buy a tract of ground. I knew that I 
should miss the boys, yet I sometimes wished them 
fairly gone, their jubilant planning so grated upon 
my impatience and perplexities. 

But I left them instead — left the school and 
went into the foundry with Phil. He had been 
offered a chance at moulding — to learn the trade if 
he liked. It would not bring him any more money 
now, perhaps not quite as much at first, but it would 
be gaining a good trade; and besides, I could take 
his place, he explained to us. He thought it the 
best thing we could do. 

It was best and right — we all saw that; but an 
expression of pain crossed Agnes’ face and quiv- 
ered over her lips. She could bear toil and sacri- 


110 


WE THREE. 


lice bravely for herself, but she had hoped such 
high things for us, our poor proud Agnes ! And 
this early leaving school and settling down to a 
toilsome trade seemed to her like shutting the door 
against higher possibilities, and this she found it 
hard to bear. Yet she said nothing — she could say 
nothing, knowing all our need. The tears dropped 
upon her work in silence. 

Perhaps our grandmother noticed it, for that 
evening, looking up from the large Bible upon her 
knee, she said, 

“How strange it must have seemed to Joshua 
when the one whom he met beside the walls of 
Jericho and challenged as a probable enemy 
proved to be the Lord himself — the Lord who led 
them !” 

The sad face that was bent over the sewing was 
lifted and brightened for a moment. 

“ ‘ And when, moving softly, he cometh 
By a way that thou dost not know — 

Cometh nearer to thee through sorrow, 

Over the billows of woe — 

Oh, never shrink back in thy spirit, 

Never be cold or dismayed ; 

His words are the words of the Master: 

“ It is I : be not afraid,” ’ ” 

Agnes repeated, softly. “ Was that what you meant, 
grandmother ?” 

“Yes. I was thinking how many providences 


WE THREE. 


Ill 


we challenge as adverse, when, if we could but 
hear the answer, it would be in his voice.” 

But the answer is spoken no longer, only written 
on the days of the years, and it takes so long, with 
our impatient eyes and faithless hearts, to spell it 
out letter by letter. So I grew used to the foundry 
and its life in the long months that followed — to 
going away in the morning and the tired return 
in the evening; to the sunlight shining in dimly 
through long rows of dusty windows, the great 
drifts of black sand, the men with begrimed faces 
passing to and fro carrying their great ladles of 
liquid fire, and to the grating and grinding sound 
of my own monotonous work. 

But Phil and I were together, and we were earn- 
ing many comforts for our home; there was a 
world of satisfaction in that. New garments made 
their appearance occasionally, and we indulged in 
the luxury of books and papers now and then. 
We were not unhappy, except from boyhood’s nat- 
ural unrest and craving for change; we had no 
cause to be. The burden of responsibility and 
work was the very discipline we needed to hold 
and steady us, fatherless and without control as 
we were ; and our simple home knew only a kind 
of comfortable poverty, after all — many sacrifices, 
much planning and contriving, but no real suf- 
fering. 

I think Agnes feared sometimes that we should 
be too quietly content with things as they were. 


112 


WE THREE. 


Our daily contact with rough men, the wearing 
toil, the stained and roughened hands, hurt and 
wounded her constantly — not her pride for herself, 
but her ambition for us. She was morbidly sensi- 
tive to every privation or hardship that touched 
those she loved, and the hands bruised and sore 
from the work and the cold brought tears to her 
loving eyes. Only the thought of those other 
hands once pierced for us kept her pain from being 
bitterness. 

“ God has promised somewhere to restore again 
the years that the canker-worm has eaten,” she 
said, sadly, one night. “ I wonder if he ever will ?” 

“ Child, God will take care of his own truth and 
word; never fear for that. What we need to take 
care of is that we do not make a canker-worm of 
our own discontent,” answered our grandmother. 
“ When you can look backward as far as I do 
now,” she added, softly, “you will see that mur- 
muring spoils more years than any trouble that 
God ever sends.” 

It does not sound very heroic, all this, but we 
were not heroes, we were only boys and a girl, now 
sanguine over some grand scheme that had no solid 
foundation, now depressed by some foreboding of 
evil that never came to us ; now doing our work 
cheerfully and courageously, now only submitting 
to it sullenly and ungratefully ; yet through it all 
being gradually taught, led and strengthened in 
that faith that asks confidently in greatest dark- 


WE THREE. 


113 


ness, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do 
right?” 

The McKenzies completed their arrangements, 
and moved westward to their new home with the 
earliest spring. We were sorry to lose them, though 
Phil and I found little time to miss the boys. Rob 
had more, and left us still less by his propensity 
for taking his leisure first and trusting to what- 
ever chance might befall to get his work done 
afterward. We still shoveled the sand for the 
foundry-men at night. We could not afford to 
relinquish so much of our income as that brought 
us, and Rob could not well do it alone; but he 
gave us abundant opportunities to assist him in 
other tasks also. 

“He is the youngest of us all; be patient,” 
Agnes would say, pleadingly, when Phil scolded 
or I grew indignant. 

And generally Rob had such varied and plausi- 
ble reasons for all his doings and leavings undone, 
and was seemingly so unconscious that any neglect 
was not a rare occurrence instead of a chronic state 
of affairs, that faultfinding seemed of little use. 
Moreover, he was always so good-naturedly will- 
ing to do a favor for any of us that the memory 
of it sealed my lips even when I felt that he was 
wrong. Generously ready to assist others in their 
work Rob always was; ready to do faithfully and 
perseveringly his own he surely was not. 

“ If it was anything that amounted to anything, 


114 


WE THREE. 


of course I’d attend to it,” lie declared, in answer 
to remonstrance ; “ but a fellow can’t keep his mind 
on splitting wood or bringing in water, can he ? or 
in looking after one old cow ? It isn’t enough to 
take up all my brains, anyhow, and so I forget 
something now and then. Wish I really had 
something to do.” 

“You’ll have enough to occupy your capacious 
mind this spring and summer at least,” said Phil, 
half ironically. “ There is the garden, and I don’t 
see that there is anybody to attend to it but you, 
though it kept us all tolerably busy last year.” 

“All right! You’ll see if I don’t make a good 
thing of it, too,” answered Bob, with easy con- 
fidence. 

“ For yourself, or for the garden ?” questioned 
Phil. 

But Rob did not hear him ; he had plunged into 
a sea of schemes for profit and improvement which 
should make his “ farm ” a marvel. 

He began well as early as the weather would 
allow, entering upon his work with great enthu- 
siasm, and undertaking, indeed, far too much. In 
vain we advised the cultivation of but a small space 
that he could thoroughly care for. Rob wanted 
every bit of the ground prepared, and declared 
that he had not an inch to spare and would be 
glad if the place were twice as large. 

“ Don’t you be afraid ; I’ll manage somehow. 
There are ways enough if a fellow only keeps his 


WE THREE. 


115 


eyes open and knows how to take advantage of 
things,” he remarked, complacently, but indefi- 
nitely. “ I'll show you.” 

“Probably you will,” Phil answered, dubiously. 

It vexed Rob, and he grew more persistent than 
before in his determination to have his own way. 
But it was only vexation, not honest, resolute per- 
severance, that was awakened, and little by little 
his ardor cooled. He required considerable assist- 
ance to complete his planting, and after that his 
gardening was carried on by fits and starts. Some 
parts of his ground bloomed into success, and 
others lay useless and neglected because he had lost 
his interest in them. He had a fashion of leaving 
one thing unfinished to begin another that was new. 
His beans suffered while he spent all his care and 
ambition upon his strawberry-beds. Yet the last 
of the strawberries would have been left to decay 
upon the vines if Agnes had not saved them from 
destruction ; for Rob had forgotten everything else 
in experimenting with a new species of tomato, 
obtained from somebody. 

Agnes and grandmother were often obliged to 
come to the rescue during the day, and Phil and I 
found need for many an evening’s work when we 
came tired from the foundry. Rob was sometimes 
hurriedly impatient, declaring the work “more 
than one fellow could do, anyhow;” sometimes 
provokingly indifferent, informing us that “ those 
beets never would amount to anything,” and he 


116 


WE THREE. 


didn’t intend to waste his breath in fussing over 
them. There were days, too, when he announced 
himself “ tired to death of being tied down to that 
old garden-patch ; a fellow might as well not live 
at all if he couldn’t have a holiday once in a while.” 
And as these holidays were selected without any 
regard to home needs or duties, but wholly with 
regard to his own impulsive will, they were often 
costly ones. 

It did not require a very careful estimate of 
profits, waste and various losses to discover by au- 
tumn that his style of cultivating a garden had 
not been successful. Rob saw it plainly enough 
himself, and was indignant and disgusted : 

“ If anybody would give me a thousand acres, I 
wouldn’t be a farmer ! What the bugs don’t eat 
up the birds will, and there’s ’most sure to be a 
drought in the wrong time. Everything has got 
to be done just to a minute, whether you’re sick or 
well ; and after a man has worked himself to death 
it’s just as likely to come to nothing as any other 
way. Our garden may be a howling wilderness 
next year for all I care ; I’ll find something better 
to do.” 

He was just starting for town with his last load 
for the season — a very small load — when he ex- 
pressed his opinion. Phil looked after him with 
curling lips: 

“ What do you suppose he’ll ever be good for, 
Win?” 


WE THREE. 


117 


“ I don’t know — something, I hope,” I answered, 
not very sanguinely, for I was a good deal dis- 
couraged. 

“You hope more than I do, then,” said Phil, 
coolly. “ He hasn’t an idea in the world but of 
pleasing himself — not a particle of perseverance 
or self-denial. He will only work when he chooses 
and as he chooses, and leaves all disagreeable duties 
for somebody else. He knows exactly how we are 
situated, but he isn’t a bit more willing to do his 
part on that account; and when he has ruined and 
wasted through his own carelessness — you see how 
it is — the wind and the weather, everything but 
himself, are to blame.” 

“Still, lie’s the youngest; he may change by and 
by,” I urged, for he was our brother, and Phil’s 
harsh judgment of Rob pained me. 

“ He had better. I’m tired of this style of per- 
formance.” 

In an hour or two Rob came up the walk, every 
trace of annoyance vanished from his face, whist- 
ling as cheerily as if he had not a care in the 
world. He placed a parcel in Phil’s hand. 

“There’s that book on chemistry you wanted, 
Phil. I thought of it when I was in town, and 
got it for you.” 

“Bought it! Why, Rob, how could you? I 
thought you had only just money enough to buy 
your boots. You needed them.” 

“ Oh, there wasn’t any such desperate hurry for 


118 


WE THREE. 


the boots. Besides, I thought a pair of shoes 
would do just as well; and they’re cheaper, you 
know, so I had enough to get the book too. Pity 
if an industrious young fellow like you can’t be 
rewarded by his elderly relatives now and then,” 
Bob answered, carelessly. 

What could one do with such a boy? Phil 
thanked him in a softened tone, and carried, I 
knew, a half-remorseful feeling for many days, 
while he enjoyed the new book for which he had 
longed. 


CHAPTER VII. 

L^s> 

^6|{T was a stormy night. All day the rain and 


vs> 


sleet had been falling, and freezing as fast 
as it fell, beating against the stained win- 
dows of the iron-foundry and making the 
long, gloomy room seem more dark and 
cavern-like than usual, lighted up, as the afternoon 
waned, only by the lurid glare from furnace and 
ladles. Outside, a cold gray sky bent over the 
icy earth, as if sunlight and warmth were things 
forgotten. Bushes, fences and walks were all one 
glare of ice, while the trees were so heavily coated 
that their great limbs, bent and twisted by the 
weight, drooped almost to the ground. As night 
fell the wind arose and blew fiercely, snapping the 
great ice-encrusted branches from the trees as if 
they had been but twigs, and flinging them wildly 
upon the frozen earth. 

One after another the men left the shop, shiver- 
ing and making some comment upon the bitter 
night as they passed out. I lingered longest. I 
had promised one of the men, anxious to hurry 
home to a sick child, to shake out some of his 
flasks for him after my own work was done, and 

119 


120 


WE THREE. 


this detained me later than usual. Phil had gone; 
and when at last I was ready to follow him, I found 
myself quite alone in the darkening, dreary build- 
ing. The road, too, looked lonely and deserted 
when I reached it. The rain and sleet were still 
falling, and no one w’as abroad unless impelled by 
necessity; for uncomfortable as the slippery walks 
had been through the day, they were really danger- 
ous now in the fast-gathering darkness, from the 
heavy branches that were constantly falling from 
the frozen trees. 

I made my way with difficulty, slipping and 
tumbling now and then upon the uneven road, 
because half blinded by the storm beating in my 
face. There was a shorter route, however, across 
a large vacant lot, half grove, half meadow. I 
hesitated a moment when I came to it. We fol- 
lowed the road usually, and it might be rough 
walking across-lots on such a night ; still, it made 
the distance less, and the cutting wind, together 
with a thought of Agnes waiting for me and anx- 
ious for my return, decided me. I climbed the 
fence, noting its grotesque fringe of icicles as I did 
so, and then, drawing my cap still farther over my 
eyes to shield them from the storm, I pushed for- 
ward. There was no path well enough defined to 
be followed at such a time, and I stumbled alon<r 
over stumps, hollows and fallen branches, begin- 
ning to feel in a little time that I had made au un- 
wise choice, but not willing to turn back. 


WE THREE. 


121 


Suddenly there was a tearing, crashing sound 
above me; something heavy struck against my 
shoulder, and I staggered and fell, not upon the 
ground, but down a slippery, uneven bank into 
some ditch or gully, I knew not what or where. 
The icy branch had followed me in my descent, and 
lay partly upon me. I was stunned for a moment; 
then I tried to escape from the weight that held me, 
but my left arm was bent under me; and when I 
had contrived to change my position far enough to 
free it, it hung limp and useless. 

Slowly and toilfully, moving my body little by 
little and pushing and breaking with my one hand, 
I at last released myself from the prisoning limb 
and endeavored to get upon my feet. But at the 
first effort I sank down again with a cry of agony ; 
one foot refused to support my weight, and an- 
swered the attempt with a paroxysm of terrible 
pain. My heart grew sick and faint with a hor- 
rible fear then. How could I ever reach home 
alone? Who would be likely to come to my aid 
where I was? I must have walked in a strangely 
zigzag course to have reached the brink of the 
gully; no one would dream of looking for me 
there. 

I called for help again and again, but my voice 
sounded weak and powerless even to myself; there 
was little probability that any one would hear it. 
Death was certain and not distant if I remained 
idly where I was in that bitter storm. I made an- 


122 


WE THREE . 


other effort, creeping and crawling slowly and pain- 
fully, now slipping back, now gaining a little ; it 
seemed hours to me, who had no way of measuring 
time but by my own suffering and anxiety, before 
I gained the top of that little ravine. Then, ex- 
hausted, I stretched myself upon the ground for a 
moment to recover strength for fresh exertion. I 
dared pause but a moment, for my wet clothing 
was stiff with ice; and I was growing benumbed 
with the cold. 

Wearily I struggled onward, hobbling a little 
way upon one foot, then creeping along upon my 
knees, the worst of all being the uncertainty of the 
direction in which I was moving. I had grown 
utterly bewildered, and could not be sure that all 
my toilsome traveling might not be taking me far- 
ther from home. More and more slow and diffi- 
cult my movements grew, longer and longer the 
enforced pauses for rest, until at last I lay still, ut- 
terly unable to go any farther. The pain seemed 
to have died away and the cold was losing its 
power. I tried to rouse myself to a realization 
that this was death, but I could not. Everything 
was growing unreal and dreamy ; a prayer mingled 
oddly with some talk heard at the foundry that 
afternoon; and then I seemed to see the .bright, 
warm room at home, the tea-table, and Agnes’ face 
pressed to the window watching for me. Even 
that vision awoke no keen anguish, only a vague 
wonder how long she would wait before she knew, 

SOI 


WE THREE. 


123 


and whether the ice would cover me as thickly as 
it did the tree-branches. How the foundry fur- 
naces would melt it ! I seemed to see some of the 
men coming toward me with their ladles of fire, 
and then I knew nothing more. 

When I awoke to life again, lights were moving 
rapidly to and fro. I seemed to be a mass of 
blankets and bandages, and there was a sea of 
faces and a confused murmur of voices around me. 
Gradually I distinguished grandmother and Agnes, 
Phil and Rob, and then old Dr. Graylie. I tried 
vainly to comprehend the situation, until Mrs. Stet- 
son’s quavering tones and rambling sentences, that 
always appeared to begin in the middle and end 
nowhere, gave me a clue : 

“ If it ain’t a blessin’, now ! I do think — And 
him all frozen up that way, ’most like a log, as you 
might say, with his ankle sprained! It seems like 
— like — It just does, poor blessed dear ! and I 
can’t help cryin’ !” 

“ Phil,” I whispered, faintly. 

He was 'at my side in an instant: “Well, old 
fellow?” trying to speak cheerfully, but with his 
voice strangely husky and the tears starting to his 
eyes. 

“ What does it all mean?” 

“Hush, dear! you mustn’t talk now,” interposed 
Agnes, with a kiss upon my forehead — a long pas- 
sionate kiss that ended in something like a sob. 

Phil answered my questioning eyes: 


124 


WE THREE. 


“ You had a fall in the grove, and you’ll be all 
right again pretty soon. Never mind now.” 

“ In the grove ? How did I get home ?” 

“ Come, now !” interrupted Dr. Graylie’s hearty 
tones. “ Can’t you keep quiet, Master Winford, 
without somebody telling you a story ? That used 
to be a fashion of yours when you were a little 
shaver, I remember, but I should think you might 
have grown out of it by this time. Here ! take 
this, and go to sleep like a sensible fellow; the 
whys and wherefores can take care of themselves.” 

I swallowed the stimulant mechanically and 
closed my eyes again. A cautious movement or 
two revealed to me that one arm was encased in 
something stiff, and that one foot was swathed in 
wet cloths. Gradually my thoughts grew clearer, 
and I remembered distinctly my fall and my efforts 
to reach home. But it seemed as if that had hap- 
pened a long time before. I wondered how long 
it had really been and who had found me. Then 
languor and the pleasant sense of warmth con- 
quered. I obeyed the doctor, and fell asleep. 

It was a long sleep from which I awakened to 
find the sunlight streaming into my room — the 
sunlight of a fairy world it appeared to me, for as 
I turned my head so that I could look through the 
window my eyes were dazzled by a glittering ra- 
diance as of countless precious gems. Every fence, 
tree, twig and shrub was resplendent in armor of 
crystal that flashed and sparkled in the sunbeams, 


WE THREE. 


125 


and the earth was like some magnificent iee-palace 
adorned with prisoned stars and broken rainbows. 

Agnes softly unclosed the door, and discovering 
that I was awake came in. 

“ Agnes, tell me all about it.” 

“ About what, dear ?” 

“ How long it has been and how I came here, 
and everything. I remember my fall and how I 
tried to get home afterward,” I added, as she hes- 
itated. “ But I could not do it ; I do not know 
how I came here.” 

“ We watched and waited for you so long,” said 
Agnes, trying to tell the story bravely, as one of 
peril past. “ I was very anxious, though the boys 
told me you were safe enough and would come 
soon ; but at last even Phil began to wonder, and 
said you surely could not see to work so late. He 
was growing uneasy, though he wouldn’t acknow- 
ledge it, and he lighted the lantern and said that 
he and Rob would go and meet you. Rob laughed 
about three getting wet to keep one company, and 
they started out, not expecting to go far. But they 
walked on and on without meeting any trace of 
you, and at last they reached the foundry. 

“ It was all dark there, the building locked, and 
there was no one in sight. Phil opened one of the 
doors with his key and went in, but they only 
found that you had finished the work you stayed to 
do ; and after calling your name two or three times 
they came out. They were really troubled then, 


126 


WE THREE. 


for they were sure they couldn’t have passed you 
on the road, and they could not imagine what had 
happened. Then Rob thought of the grove; you 
might have gone that way and missed them, after 
all. So they turned back and clambered over the 
fence to come home that way ; and then they found 
you.” 

“ Did they bring me home, Phil and Rob ?” 

“ They tried to. They carried you back to the 
road — that was the safest way — but it was so icy and 
stormy; and oh, I don’t know what they would 
have done if they hadn’t met Mr. Stetson. God sent 
him there just then, I am sure. He helped Phil 
to carry you, and Rob hurried on to tell us. I 
hardly know how it all was after that. The neigh- 
bors came in, and somebody went for the doctor, 
and they brought you in so cold and white. Oh, 
Win, Win! I thought you would never speak 
again !” and Agnes’ face buried itself in the pillow 
beside me. 

“ Come, come ! what have we here ?” broke in 
Dr. Graylie’s cheery voice, and the doctor’s genial 
self marched into the room. “ A fine nurse you 
are, Miss Agnes ! Do you think my patient did 
not have soaking enough in all the storm last 
night, that you must treat him to such a deluge as 
this?” 

Agnes looked up with flushed cheeks and wet 
lashes : 

“He made me tell him all about it, doctor.” 


WE THREE. 


127 


“ Yes, I see. Well, how do you find yourself 
this morning, my boy ?” 

Truth to say, I found myself far from sound or 
well. The utter exhaustion was beginning to wear 
off a little, and a strange, uncomfortable sensation 
in my arm and severe twinges of pain in my an- 
kle began to make themselves keenly felt, and as- 
sured me that I was not only in the body, but in a 
bruised and wounded one at that. More and more 
convincing grew the proofs as the doctor proceeded 
with his manipulation of bandages. 

“ What is the matter, Dr. Graylie?” 

“ A broken arm and a badly-sprained ankle,” 
answered the doctor, promptly. “ And a very for- 
tunate youth you are to escape so, if you did but 
know it,” he added as he saw my clouded face. 
“Do you remember anything about it? We did 
not quite understand how you were hurt from the 
way in which you were found,” he observed, pres- 
ently. 

“ I was not hurt there.” And then I told how 
the falling branch had swept me into the gully, 
and the slow, desperate effort by which I had made 
my escape from it. 

Agnes shuddered and grew pale : 

“To think of your suffering there alone, so near 
home, and yet so far from any help! They would 
never have found you there until — ” Her voice 
failed, and she hurried from the room. 

“ Poor Agnes ! she had so much to bear last 


128 


WE THREE. 


night that it has left her weak and unnerved to- 
day,” said the doctor, looking after her. “ And 
now, Master Win, I have some advice for you, 
medical and friendly, and it is all in two words : 
Be patient. I suspect you’ll find it a pretty bitter 
pill to swallow sometimes, but it is the very best 
thing I can recommend. I trust we shall have 
you as strong and sound as ever again, but it will 
take time. You cannot be up and about very soon. 
That is impossible, and it is best you should make 
up your mind to it, and not fret yourself into fever 
by any impatient attempts to hurry nature; that 
will only retard, not help.” 

" How long ?” I questioned, sharply, a trifle ir- 
relevantly ; but the doctor comprehended : 

“I cannot tell that; it must be weeks at the 
best.” 

Weeks of idleness, of utter uselessness, when my 
work was so much needed to support the home! 
An exclamation of impatience and dismay broke 
from my lips. 

“ You are no child, Winford, that the truth 
should be kept from you, and because I feared 
your ambition would overmaster all prudence I 
have stated the case frankly.” 

“ It was best, I suppose ; thank you,” I an- 
swered, not very heartily. “ Oh dear ! if it were 
only for myself, I could bear it, but — ” And then 
I paused, unwilling to reveal even to our old friend 
the exact state of the case. He must have un- 


WE THREE. 


129 


derstood it pretty nearly, but he only replied, 
gravely, 

“ Remember, my boy, that instead of laying 
aside your work for a few weeks it had wellnigh 
been for ever. Trust the One who saved your 
life to make it useful again in his own good 
time.” 

It was so hard at first. I was weak and weary, 
but in our thankfulness for life preserved it seemed 
that no trouble or privation could be very hard to 
bear while we were spared to each other. Phil 
came to me at night with cheerful talk of the day’s 
doings, and Rob in his merry, rattling way re- 
hearsed the school-gossip. But as my strength re- 
turned, and I felt well and full of energy again 
but for those two weak limbs that held me captive, 
I grew restless. 

They tried to hide from me as far as possible the 
careful planning and pinching economy that the 
loss of my earnings had rendered necessary, but I 
saw it clearly in the plainer table, the giving up 
of purposed purchases, and in Agnes’ unremitting 
toil with her needle. I had thought myself brave- 
hearted; but when it came to being no longer help- 
ful, but a burden instead, my vaunted courage 
failed. I pondered and fretted over the troubles I 
could not help, and grew moody and irritable as 
the slow days went by. 

“ Is there nothing earthly I can do that is of 
any use?” I asked, gloomily, one day when Dr. 

9 


130 


WE THREE. 


Graylie called, as he often did, though not exactly 
professionally, since time was doing all for me that 
could be done. 

“That depends upon what you call of any 
use.” 

“ Something that will help somebody.” 

“ Well, I do not see that you can do much to 
help other people just now, unless it is by being 
an example of patience and fortitude ; and Fm 
afraid you are not a decided success in that line,” 
laughing as he saw my face.- “But I think you 
could do something that might be of considerable 
use to yourself — study, for instance. Now, if I 
had such an enforced bit of leisure as yours — which 
I trust for my own sake and that of some other 
people I shall not have — I should know exactly 
what to do with it. I should go deep into some 
of those books of mine, and find it profitable work, 
too. I can lend you some of them if you feel 
inclined to try it.” 

“ If I were going to be a doctor — ” I began. 

“ Why, boy, you do not know what you are going 
to be; and I can tell you this — that when Providence 
offers us a chance to learn any useful thing we had 
better embrace the opportunity, feeling very sure 
that somewhere in our lives there will come a call 
to use it. And some knowledge of these wonder- 
ful human bodies of ours, and the laws that govern 
them, cannot fail to be valuable to any one.” 

I thought over the matter in silence a moment. 


WE THREE. 


131 


He was right. It would be far better than doing 
as I had done, which was worse than wasting my 
time,' and I thanked the doctor and accepted his 
offer. 

“ Very well. I will bring you some books, and 
we’ll see what kind of a medical student you’ll 
make. That arm is getting on pretty fast, isn’t it? 
I’d rather have a broken limb than a badly-sprained 
one any time.” 

That evening Phil announced that the boy who 
had been engaged in my place had gone away : 

“ And Mr. Croyden spoke of you, Rob, and said 
maybe you would come — at least, until they could 
get some one else.” 

“ Maybe I will ! Six dollars a week ! I shouldn’t 
wonder if I would ; and they needn’t trouble them- 
selves to look for anybody else, either,” said Rob, 
in high glee at the intelligence. 

“ But it will be close, steady work, you know,” 
suggested Phil, doubtfully. 

“Do you think I’ve lived here all my life with- 
out finding out that foundry-hours are from seven 
in the morning until six at night?” demanded Rob, 
serenely. 

Phil looked at me with a smile: 

“ Mr. Croyden was a trifle complimentary, Win. 
He said he knew nothing of Rob personally, but 
he was used to buying goods by samples, and so he 
was not afraid to take him.” 

“ If you had just told him that you considered 


132 


WE THREE. 


me the worst specimen in the package!” laughed 
Rob. 

He started off the next morning in good spirits, 
and the thought that the gap in our family income 
was to be filled again cheered and comforted me, 
and left me with calmer mind and clearer brain for 
the books the doctor brought me. Dr. Graylie 
chatted pleasantly, gave me some advice about my 
reading, and departed ; and soon I found myself, 
quite to my own surprise, deeply interested in those 
same “ dull medical volumes.” In our school at 
that time physiology had never been introduced, 
so this whole study, from its very beginning, was 
new to me, and, as I soon discovered, intensely 
fascinating. 

When the doctor came again, I greeted him with 
a host of questions — questions that he was both 
willing and able to answer; for though he had con- 
tentedly remained only a village physician, he was 
a man of undoubted skill and knowledge and an 
enthusiast in his profession. He was well pleased 
with my progress and my interest, and the lending 
of books and the long talks over them became a 
settled custom in the weeks that followed. 

“ Many a fellow studies for a physician because 
he thinks he should like to ride in a gig, carry 
a cane, talk Latin and keep his hands white,” 
said the doctor one day. “ But when one’s 
liking is for the study itself, that is a different 
thing.” 


WE THREE. 


133 


“But I can only study medicine — not for a 
physician ; I can never be that,” I answered, with 
a little sigh. 

“Well, maybe not. But then we shall see — 
we shall see,” said the doctor, thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER Y III. 


« Y broken arm had healed rapidly, accord- 
ing to the doctor’s prediction. It was 
nearly as strong as ever, but my foot was 
still swollen and tender, and I was only 
able to move about upon crutches. Re- 
suming my work was impossible until I should 
have fully recovered, and I looked forward to the 
time with mingled dread and impatience. I was 
anxious to return to my place because of a sus- 
picion, amounting almost to a certainty, that Rob 
was not filling it particularly well. He had tired 
of the monotonous work, was often careless about 
going in time in the morning, and excused himself 
from making any effort to give satisfaction by de- 
claring that Mr. Croyden did not pay half what 
the work was worth. Phil said nothing to me 
upon the subject, but I more than once overheard 
his half-angry remonstrance with Rob. It made 
me long uneasily to end it, and yet I keenly dreaded 
giving up the long days of study that had grown 
so dear. 

Dr. Graylie came in hurriedly one morning and 
gave me some books : 

“I haven’t a moment to stay. See what a thing 
134 


WE THREE. 


135 


it is to be a doctor, and not have an hour one can 
call his own ! I wanted to finish a paper I have 
been preparing for the medical convention — copy 
it, that is — and I had fully intended doing it to- 
day, when here comes a call to ride twelve miles 
into the country to attend a sick child. And that 
ends my scheme, of course.” 

“ Couldn’t I do it for you, doctor? — the copying, 
I mean ?” I asked, suddenly. 

“ Why, I don’t know. I never thought of the 
thing,” said the doctor, pausing to consider the 
matter. “ I don’t see why you cannot if you will ; 
and I shall be very glad to have it done, I assure 
you.* I’ll drive home and bring over the papers at 
once.” 

He paused on the steps and looked back : 

“ How would it do for you to write in my office, 
Winford ? Everything is in readiness there, and 
it would be a satisfaction to leave some one in 
charge of the place while I am gone.” 

I assented willingly. The doctor assisted me 
into his carriage, drove to his office, and after see- 
ing me comfortably established departed. 

Out of what seemingly trivial incidents grow so 
many of life’s great changes! From that day I 
was almost constantly in the doctor’s office, copy- 
ing for him, studying or taking charge of the place 
when he was absent. He needed some one — I soon 
saw that plainly — for he was growing old, he was 
not a little absent-minded, and his duties were 


136 


WE THREE. 


many. As my ankle regained its strength, so that 
I could move about more freely, I became more 
and more useful to him, and my sigh of regret was 
partly on account of my kind old friend as I one 
day remarked, 

“ I suppose I am almost well enough to go to 
work again.” 

“ Work again?” repeated the doctor, looking up, 
as if he had quite forgotten the possibility of such 
a thing, as, indeed, it is very probable that he had. 
“ At the foundry, you mean ? Why, bless me, 
W inford! how do you suppose I’m going to get 
along ?” 

“ I don’t know, sir, nor how I am to get along, 
either,” I answered, rather sadly. 

“ Sure enough ! I don’t know what kind of a 
hand you will make in that shop, but you will be 
spoiling a good doctor; mind, I say that, Winford 
— a good doctor.” 

“ You are very kind. I wish it could be — ” I 
began ; then he interrupted me : 

“Well, why can’t it be? Stay with me and 
study.” 

If I only could ! My heart bounded, then sank. 
Was there ever a truer saying than that “the de- 
struction of the poor is their poverty ” ? I could 
not alford to accept this generous offer. Dr. Gray- 
lie understood my silence : 

“ You are thinking of the bread and butter in 
the mean while, eh ? I do not see that you need 


WE THREE. 


137 


lose anything. I can certainly afford to pay you as 
much as you were getting at the foundry.” 

u But, Dr. Graylie,” I protested, “ entering your 
office as a student would be ample payment for 
any services I can render.” 

“ Certainly it is — I will not deny that ; but you 
cannot afford to study medicine in that way. Now, 
your studying here really costs me nothing at all, 
while your services have become of so much value 
that I can better afford to pay six dollars a week 
than do without them. That is the case from my 
point of view, candidly and honestly ; and if you 
are willing, stay.” 

We arranged it all in a brief talk afterward, and 
the tidings I carried home that night made Agnes’ 
dark eyes glow like stars, while Phil's face ex- 
pressed his hearty, unselfish pleasure. I felt a pang 
of self-reproach — almost as if I had meanly de- 
serted him — when I told my pleasant story and 
remembered that my work w r as thenceforth to be 
among the books I loved, while he was left to toil 
on in the dreary foundry. But his glance and 
voice evinced unmistakable gratification. 

Rob was glad too in a brotherly, impulsive way, 
but grumbled a little that “the luck couldn’t be 
passed around,” as he phrased it. He was heartily 
tired of that dingy old shop, and wished some 
streak of good fortune would take him out of it 
too. 

“ You would hardly have called Win’s broken 


138 


WE THREE 


arm and sprained foot a f streak of good fortune ’ 
when it first happened,” said Agnes, reprovingly. I 

“ Which only shows that you can’t tell how 
things are going to turn out/’ answered Rob the 
careless. “Heigho! I wish something would 
happen.” 

“A good long streak of industry w T ould be a 
streak of fortune to you — the most wonderful for- 
tune I know of,” said Phil. Then he suddenly 
checked himself, resolved not to spoil the pleasure 
of the evening by any altercation. 

I pursued my studies with increased strength 
and earnestness now that I had a definite purpose 
in them, and the busy days passed swiftly — now off 
on errands for the doctor, now riding with him into 
the country, now eugaged with books or writing in 
the office. My old friend gave me every advantage 
in his power, and, with no sons of his own upon 
whom to bestow his pride and care, I think he grew 
to feel an almost fatherly interest in me. There 
was only one drawback to my content : Phil and I 
were separated. True, we spent our evenings to- 
gether as of old and shared the same little room 
at night, but the different occupations brought 
different interests and associations, and I felt that 
the paths which had run side by side from child- 
hood were beginning to diverge. When I once 
said something of the sort to Phil, he only laughed 
and answered, 

“ You were always a wee bit girlish, Win.” 


WE THREE. 


139 


Yet I think he felt it too. 

Rob’s discontented longing for something to 
happen grew daily greater. He openly avowed 
his disgust for everything connected with the iron- 
works and began to take occasional holidays, 
affirming that he might as well be in the peniten- 
tiary itself if he couldn’t get out once in a while. 
These days of idleness would have been much more 
frequent than they were but for Agnes’ watchful- 
ness and persuasion. 

“ There are more than yourself to be considered, 
Rob. You put others to loss and inconvenience 
when you stay away,” she urged. 

“If I could just make them stop altogether, it 
would be a good thing,” Rob retorted. “ What is 
the sense in a lot of men digging away there day 
after day, like so many moles, and never having a 
day to enjoy themselves in ? It isn’t life at all ; it 
is only grubbing. Phil is getting to be just like 
the rest, and it would be a mercy if some one could 
make them stop now and then.” 

Nevertheless, because of her pleading eyes, he 
would often yield, and picking up his hat saunter 
away to work. This state of things could not last 
long, and we were scarcely surprised when he an- 
nounced one night that he should not go back. 

“ Oh, Rob !” exclaimed Agnes. 

“ You needn’t say ‘ Oh, Rob !’ It isn’t my fault,” 
he answered, half laughingly, half pettishly. “ Mr. 
Croyden told me to-day that he had engaged an- 


140 


WE THREE. 


other boy. He said he had a chance to do so ; and 
as I had only taken the place at first to keep it for 
Win, and he had decided now not to come back, he 
thought he had better take the fellow. So, as he 
had taken that view of it, I didn’t say anything.” 

“ Which was fortunate,” said Phil, coolly, “ be- 
cause it saved him the trouble of telling you in 
plain English that he didn’t want you ; that’s the 
amount of it all. He wouldn’t have been likely 
to suppose so much, and to have engaged somebody 
else without asking whether you would stay, if you 
had suited. He has learned that he can’t depend 
upon you.” 

Rob flushed : 

“You can look at it in that way if you choose. 
I’m sure I didn’t care enough about staying in that 
old prison and working at half pay to ask him 
any questions about it. I’m not cut out for that 
sort of life, any way.” 

“ I would like to know what sort of life you are 
cut out for. Have you any idea?” questioned 
Phil, contemptuously. 

Rob walked away without answering, and a 
troubled silence fell over our little group. Agnes 
broke it, trying to speak cheerfully : 

“ It does not matter as much as it would have 
done a year ago, before you two were doing so well. 
After all, it may be just as well that he should go 
to school again. He is young yet to — ” 

“ Sixteen,” interposed Phil. 


WE THREE. 


141 


“ I know ; but he seems younger because he is 
the youngest of us all. That does make a differ- 
ence, Phil. And it won't hurt him to go to school 
a while longer — " 

“ Nor do him any good, either," interrupted Phil 
again. 

“Oh, Phil, don't!" cried Agnes. “I cannot bear 
it !" 

“ I cannot help it, Agnes." Phil's voice softened 
somewhat. “ I am not blind, and I cannot help 
seeing that he perseveres in nothing, and seems to 
think that there is nothing in the whole universe 
that is of as much consequence as his own plea- 
sure. What good will it do him to go back to 
school ?" 

Agnes attempted no reply. Her face paled and 
saddened, but there came into her eyes the look of 
a heart that, having loved its own which are in the 
world, will love them unto the end, through what- 
ever of sorrow, shame or sin. 

I found a chance to speak to Rob alone that 
night, and asked, 

“ What do you mean to do now ?” 

“ I don't know. Go back to school, I suppose, 
until something turns up. How savage Phil was 
about it !" he burst forth, indignantly. “ He seems 
to think everybody must fancy just what he does !" 

“ Phil doesn’t work in the foundry just because 
he fancies it, Rob; you know that as well as I. 
What would have become of us if he hadn't given 


142 


WE THREE. 


up school and gone to work two years ago ? And he 
cared far more for study than you do, too.” 

“ Well, I don’t say he didn’t. Phil is a good- 
enough fellow,” answered Rob, more gently. “ But 
everybody can’t do things alike, and he needn’t try 
to order me about quite so much as he does, and 
talk as if I were good for nothing because I don’t 
exactly follow out his plans,” growing angry again. 
“ I’m no baby, and I won’t stand it.” 

I was silent, and he paced to and fro a few times, 
and then remarked, bitterly, 

“ I’m sure there doesn’t anybody seem to think 
it a waste of time for you to study.” 

“ I am studying for some definite object.” 

“ So shall I. Getting an education is an 
object.” 

“ Education for what ?” 

“ Why, a host of things. There are ever so 
many things a man can do if he has an education 
that he can’t do if he hasn’t.” 

“ Yes; which of them do you mean to do?” 

“What a fellow you are!” exclaimed Rob, im- 
patiently. “ Here I’ve only left the foundry this 
evening, and you talk as if I might have had six 
months to make up my mind in. How can I 
tell?” 

“But it seems pretty nearly time to decide on 
something, doesn’t it? Last year you were tired 
of the school and sure you could turn the garden 
to account ; then you grew tired of the garden and 


WE THREE. 


143 


wished you could work in the foundry, as Phil and 
I did. Now you have tried the foundry and are 
tired of that. You ought to settle down to some- 
thing and stick to it — not just the thing that you 
would like, maybe, but something you can do ; for 
you haven’t the chance to choose that some boys 
have. We are not rich.” 

“ I’m not likely to forget that,” said Rob ; then 
he turned about in sudden heat : “ See here ! If you 
and Phil are so troubled because you are earning 
all the money, and think I don’t do enough to pay 
for my board, I’ll save you all worrying on that 
account; I can very easily go off somewhere and 
take care of myself. But I can tell you I’d have 
worked myself to death, lazy as you think me, be- 
fore I’d have said such a thing to either of you.” 

“ Nobody has said it to you, Rob ; you said it 
yourself, and a good many unjust things besides. I 
thought you might be willing to talk over the mat- 
ter sensibly ; but if you are not, we must let it alone, 
I suppose. Only your going back to school be- 
cause a man can do a good many things with an 
education looks to me very much like starting out 
on the river in a boat because a man can go to a 
good many towns in a boat. It is true enough ; but 
if he just paddles around and doesn’t start for any 
place in particular, he won’t be likely to go any- 
where.” 

I walked away to the window, thoroughly pro- 
voked with the careless, unreasonable fellow, and 


144 


WE THREE . 


inclined to think Phil’s harshness not very much 
out of place. Rob paced to and fro, his march 
gradually changing from a swift, excited tread to a 
slower, more thoughtful step ; and at last he paused 
by my side : 

“ Never mind, Win ! I get so angry with Phil, 
you know, and then it takes me a while to get over 
it and makes me cross with everybody. But I 
don’t want to trouble Agnes and all of you, 
’specially grandmother,” his voice breaking a little. 
“ What would you do ?” 

His mood had changed ; he was frank, sweet- 
tempered, easily-persuaded Rob once more, ready 
to listen to advice, to improve upon it with sug- 
gestions of his own, to acknowledge with a sort of 
magnanimous air that he had not perhaps been 
quite as steady and faithful as he should have been, 
to promise — alas, too easily ! — and talk himself 
into a general glow of good feelings and good 
resolutions. Yet what could one who loved him do, 
but believe and hope, while he stood there with his 
flushed, handsome young face and planned so con- 
fidently and brightly ? 

“ I’ll go back to school — it seems as if that is all 
I can do in the mean time — and I’ll study like a 
Digger Indian — mathematics too, because I hate 
that worst of all and need it most. But I’ll keep 
my eyes open for a chance at work that seems likely 
to be something I can stick to, and then if I don’t 
stick my name isn’t Rob.” 


WE THREE. 


145 


Agnes had an errand at Mrs. Stetson’s that 
evening, and Phil and I went down to Dr. Gray- 
lie’s office together, leaving grandmother and Rob 
alone. When we returned, he was sitting on a low 
seat very near her arm-chair, and there was a look 
bn his face that made me fancy he had had another 
talk, better, truer and deeper than the one with me. 
He was very thoughtful and gentle all the evening, 
even to Phil, who scarcely noticed him. The next 
morning, as Phil was starting for the foundry, Rob 
placed himself in the doorway, and holding out his 
hand looked up half merrily, half coaxingly : 

“Say, Phil, give us the right hand of fellow- 
ship. Pm not going to destruction, and I won’t be 
a scamp.” 

“ Because you haven’t perseverance enough to do 
either, I suppose,” answered Phil, half vexed, but 
giving his hand, nevertheless, and smiling a little 
in spite of himself at the irresistible tone. 

Rob marched off to school with a wondrously 
determined air, and that evening walked into town 
and spent the last of his foundry-earnings in buy- 
ing a dress for Agnes and an algebra for himself. 
He was not far enough advanced in his studies to 
need an algebra, but then was he not about to study 
mathematics desperately? 

Phil smiled a half-grim, half-amused smile when 
the purchase was displayed, but said nothing, and 
Rob busied himself over his books until bedtime. 
His resolution lasted until Saturday. Then the 
10 


146 


WE THREE. 


preparation of Monday’s lessons was crowded out 
by a long afternoon of skating on the river, from 
which he returned too late to do more than prepare 
a scant supply of fuel for Sunday. The next week 
did not commence prosperously, and closed as it 
began. Rob’s school-going had slipped into its old 
careless, indefinite fashion. Nearly a month passed 
in this way, and then he came home to dinner one 
day late, but talkative and radiant : 

“ Oh, I’ve got a notion now, I tell you !” 

“ An ocean ? Must be rather a damp and slop- 
pish possession, isn’t it?” questioned Phil. 

“No, sir! It’s something solid, you’d better 
believe. You know Jimmy Brant, who keeps the 
telegraph-station? Well, I go down there some- 
times, and he knows me pretty well, and to-day I 
saw him, and he asked me if I didn’t want to learn 
telegraphing. It didn’t take me long to say yes, 
and I’m going to do it, too.” 

“And give up all your glory as a mathe- 
matician,” commented Phil, mockingly. 

But Agnes hastily covered the remark with a 
question : 

“ How ? when ? You do things in such a hurry, 
Rob.” 

“ Why, I’m going there Saturdays, and now and 
then an afternoon, you know, to see how it goes 
and see if I take to it. It’s likely that I’ll leave 
school pretty soon ; guess I will, and turn operator 
altogether. Brant says there are lots of places a 


WE THREE. 


147 


good hand can get, and make plenty of money, too. 
And as for the work, it’s nothing but just fun.” 

“ Did Brant say that ?” I interposed. 

“ No, but I know, because I have seen it myself. 
It’s only sitting at a table and learning to under- 
stand that ‘ click, click, click/ and to read the marks 
it makes on strips of paper. There’s no hard work 
about it; it’s only interesting, and just the sort of 
thing I like.” 

“ And how happened Mr. Brant to ask you?” 

“Oh, he wanted some help or company, or 
something, I suppose; I don’t know exactly, or 
what he’ll pay — nothing until I get learned a little 
and see how it goes. We can fix that afterward, 
and I’m glad enough to have a chance.” 

“ I do not know Mr. Brant. What sort of a 
man is he ?” asked Agnes, a little uneasily. 

“Good-natured and jolly as can be,” answered 
Bob, comfortably. 

“ An easy, simple-hearted sort of fellow whom 
it seems natural for boys and everybody else to call 
Jimmy Brant, though he is a middle-aged man. 1 
never heard any harm of him, and he must be 
steady and faithful enough, or he wouldn’t have 
held that place so long,” said Phil, replying to the 
look in Agnes’ eyes. 

Phil and I walked together a little way on going 
out from dinner — walked in silence to the corner 
where I turned toward the doctor’s office. Then I 
paused a moment : 


148 


WE THREE. 


“After all, telegraphing may not be so bad.” 

“ Telegraphing is well enough,” said Phil, coolly. 
“ I only doubt whether the new operator is a suc- 
cess. However, let him try it.” 

“Yes; ‘ It’s a long lane that has no turning/ ” I 
answered, wishing to say something hopeful, and 
falling back rather vaguely on the old proverb. 

“ If you mean Rob, I think he has entirely too 
many turnings,” retorted Phil, walking away on his 
own road and leaving me to pursue mine. 


CHAPTER IX. 

HREE years passed quietly, — almost unevent- 
fully, it seemed ; yet looking back, we could 
see that many changes had been wrought in 
us and around us. I was still with Dr. 
Graylie, his constant assistant and holding 
almost a son’s place. By his desire and assistance 
I had attended medical lectures in a neighboring 
city, but he had welcomed me back eagerly, and I 
found full employment in the work that my kind 
old friend was gradually dropping from his tired 
hands into my younger, stronger ones. He began 
to talk laughingly about a new sign and a part- 
nership in name as well as in fact. 

Phil was still at the iron-mills, a good workman 
at good wages, but with his clear, business-like 
head and prompt, energetic spirit not a little vexed 
at the manner in which matters were conducted. 
The old mills were running down ; not from lack 
of business, for Quinton had grown in size and 
population, and a new railroad, with the shops 
and offices belonging thereto, had added to its life 
and importance. But at the iron-mills there was 

149 



150 


WE THREE. 


no one to improve these increased opportunities 
and advantages. Mr. Croyden the elder was dead, 
and his son, the present owner, knew little of the 
business, and apparently cared less. He lived in 
the city and drove out occasionally with some 
friends to visit the works, to saunter through the 
rooms, laugh, talk and go away again. He was 
easy and careless, and the place was governed more 
by whim and fancy than by any knowledge or def- 
inite purpose, and neglect and waste were fast ren- 
dering his new possession not only unremunerative, 
but expensive. Phil had been offered a position 
as foreman, but declined. 

“ It will be the position only in name, and not in 
fact/’ he said at home. “ I could not be at all sure 
that one day’s orders would not be countermanded 
the next, or that promises made to any men I em- 
ployed would be kept. My place might mean one 
thing this week and another thing next week, and 
I should have a world of vexation and anxiety 
without any real control or authority over anything. 
If I really could have my own way and put things 
in order there and keep them so, I’d gladly enough 
do it, not only for my own advantage, but because 
it seems a shame to have a fine business going to 
ruin as that is. But I do not care to accept this 
offer.” 

Bob had been in the telegraph-office a part of the 
time during these last years — long enough to learn 
considerable of the profession and its duties, but 


WE THREE. 


151 


not long enough or steadily enough thoroughly to 
master it or to prove himself reliable or efficient. 
The “ plenty of places and plenty of money ” so 
grandly predicted had not yet appeared, though he 
was occasionally sent for when some pressure of 
work in the office, or absentee from it, made ad- 
ditional help necessary. He spent much of his 
time at the railroad shops and yard, now employed 
at one thing, now at another — “ a jack-at-all- trades,” 
he declared, in his gay, careless way, though Agnes 
always looked troubled at the expression and wor- 
ried not a little over his railroad associates and 
surroundings. 

He had gone there first with messages from the 
telegraph-office, and the hurry and bustle, the 
arrival and departure, of trains and the ever-chang- 
ing crowd of comers and goers suited his excite- 
ment-loving nature. Merry, obliging, quick to 
learn anything that required agility or sleight-of- 
hand, he became a favorite with those about the 
place, and was initiated into a variety of occupa- 
tions. He had acted as assistant switch-tender, had 
helped to run the engine in the yard — had entire 
charge of it for a time, indeed. He had served as 
brakeman, assisted as fireman, had goue with the 
trains on various trips in various capacities, and 
“ bade fair to know enough of everything in gen- 
eral to spoil him for anything in particular,” Phil 
said, grimly. 

“ IVe got a chance to go on the road now as 


152 


WE THREE. 


assistant engineer — a steady place, and Fm going to 
take it,” said Rob to Agnes. 

“Oh, Rob! I thought you said yesterday that 
they wanted you at the telegraph-office again, didn’t 
you ?” 

“ So they do if I’ve a mind to go, but I haven’t ; 
I like this better. What’s the use of just going 
back to that old office for a few weeks ? I tell you 
this other is a steady berth if I want it.” 

“ But the danger.” 

“ Phoo, Agnes ! no more danger there than any- 
where else if a fellow only keeps his eyes open, 
and I shall know what I’m about, thanks to my 
experience with the yard-engine.” 

“ That isn’t all,” said Agnes, sadly. “ It is such 
a life, taking you among all sorts of people. And 
some of the men you are with so much are so 
rough and low — you know they are, Rob.” 

“Well, I needn’t be because they are. You 
wouldn’t try to keep Win from visiting sick people 
that couldn’t show a good moral character, would 
you ? and you don’t ask Phil to leave the foundry, 
though there are coarse-enough specimens there, 
I’m sure. Besides, these are nearly all good-hearted 
fellows, if they are rough. There’s no use talking, 
Agnes. I like railroad-life — that’s the amount of 
it ; and I might better be something that suits me 
than to be fussing about as I have been doing, try- 
ing to make myself into something that I never 
was made for.” 


WE THREE. 


153 


“ Have you said anything to the others — to 
Phil — about it?” questioned Agnes. 

“ Phil ? No ; why should I ? He is always sure 
Pm going to destruction, and he won’t be partic- 
ularly interested in knowing what new route I’ve 
taken,” Rob answered, impatiently. Then he 
changed his tone at sight of Agnes’ sad eyes: 
“Now, A ggy, don’t fret! Think of all the rail- 
road presidents and superintendents and high-and- 
mighty men generally. Who knows what propor- 
tions I shall grow to some day? And any way, 
the work itself is necessary, for people must travel, 
and it’s honest; you can’t say anything against 
that. I’m sure you’ve so often quoted to me that 
1 a rolling stone gathers no moss ’ that you ought to 
be the last one to object to my settling down to any 
respectable business, even if you don’t quite fancy 
it.” 

“ Settling down !” That was the trouble. Rob 
never did that ; we all began to fear that he never 
would. “There is not an hour that I feel quite 
safe and at rest about him,” said Agnes, wearily, 
one day, “ except when I know that he is in bed 
and asleep. If it were not for the nights, I do not 
know what would become of me.” 

Nevertheless, when all her arguments had failed 
to change Rob’s purpose, she tried to present the 
plan to others in its most favorable aspects. 

“ I believe a railroad must have something of 
the fascination of the sea about it. Once one gets 


154 


WE THREE. 


a taste for roving on either, and no quiet stay-at- 
home life can offer any charm afterward,” she said, 
with a faint smile. “ Rob has been under the spell 
for nearly two years, and now nothing will satisfy 
him but going as an engineer on one of the trains. 
Just what might have been expected, I suppose; 
still, I wish it were not so dangerous. But then, as 
Rob says, it is honest and useful work that some- 
body must do ; and the sixty dollars each month 
will be useful, too.” 

“To whom?” inquired Phil. 

“Oh, to the firm generally. I’m treasurer, I 
believe.” Agnes smiled again, but her cheek 
flushed ; then she looked up appealingly : “ You 
know there are some good, true men running on 
this road, Phil.” 

“ Yes, I know.” 

“ And supporting their families comfortably and 
honorably.” 

“Certainly. I have said nothing against the 
work.” 

“ No ; but you look — ” Agnes hesitated. 

“ As if I thought those men and Rob might be 
totally different individuals ? I do,” Phil answered, 
quietly. “ But the railroad is not responsible for 
that,” 

“ Then you will — you do not object ?” she asked, 
anxiously. 

“I? No; why should I? Rob does as he 
pleases.” 


WE THREE. 


155 


That was all she could gain. Phil said nothing 
more to her, but lie turned to me when she had left 
the room : 

“ I suppose Rob has been trying to reconcile her 
by quoting brilliant examples and planning all the 
good things he can do with his money .” 

“ Meaning to do them, too,” I said. 

“Very likely. His meanings and doings are so 
utterly unlike that it is almost impossible to judge 
of the one by the other. But you will see that no 
one — not even himself — will be much the better 
for his earnings in that way.” 

“Yet Bob is generous,” I urged. 

“ Rob is — Rob. That is all there is about it, 
and it is enough for any one that knows him,” said 
Phil, abruptly closing the conversation. “ You 
will see.” 

I could foresee with tolerable certainty, and 
was not surprised, at the end of the first month, 
that Rob had little left after paying his various 
bills. 

“ Queer where it all went to,” he said, looking 
considerably astonished at the result himself. 
“ But then I’ve had to board away from home part 
of the time, and those eating-houses charge like 
the mischief to us railroad-men especially, because 
they know they can. And then Fve paid for 
others a good many times, too; a fellow can’t be 
mean when he’s among friends — at least, I can’t. 
I suppose I didn’t keep a very good account of 


156 


WE THREE. 


expenses, any way. Must look sharper another 
month.” 

The next month he brought home a shawl for 
grandmother and a dress for Agnes, neither of 
them very expensive, and did not have quite 
enough besides to pay his bills — a fact that I 
learned, though they did not. He was always 
ready to give of what money he had ; the mis- 
fortune was that he seldom had any. This was a 
matter of less consequence to the family, except in 
so far as it injured Rob himself, than it would have 
been in earlier years. Phil and I could well sup- 
ply the little home with comforts now, but the 
effects of such careless, wasteful expenditure told 
hurtfully upon Rob. His earnings were spent be- 
fore they were obtained, often in foolish and harm- 
ful ways. He was nearly always pressed for money 
and harassed by unpaid bills. He was vexed and 
impatient when they were presented, culpably neg- 
lectful of them when they were out of sight, but 
always sanguine about settling everything right 
next pay-day. 

His trips took him away for forty-eight hours ; 
then he was off duty for a day and a night. What 
watch Agnes kept the nights he was expected home ! 
She had always an excuse for waiting until his train 
came in, however late. But after a time his home- 
comings grew more irregular. He changed with 
some one and made an extra trip, or they came in 
late and he was tired and slept on the cars. His 


WE THREE. 


157 


reasons for not knowing exactly when he should be 
at home were many, and his appearances among us 
grew proportionately fewer. 

He seemed a favorite among his companions 
still, for some of them came for him frequently 
during what he called his furloughs and persuaded 
him off for a horseback or boat ride, or some other 
expedition. We did not often know what or where, 
and it was not always quite safe to inquire very 
closely, for the sunny temper had grown less equa- 
ble. He was often gloomy or irritable, and keenly 
resented the least suspicion of interference with his 
movements, now and then excusing some sharp 
answer w'ith the laughing remark afterward that 
“so much loss of sleep spoiled a fellow’s man- 
ners.” 

Months passed, and he evinced no disposition to 
change his occupation, but he was himself chang- 
ing, and not for the better; we all saw that. The 
watchful, anxious look haunted Agnes’ eyes con- 
tinually, and on the grandmother’s patient face 
there was an expression that neither poverty nor 
death had ever brought. I think it was the grow- 
ing pain on those two dear faces that so kept alive 
Phil’s bitterness toward the offender, and aroused 
the firm condemnation that would admit no plea 
nor palliation. 

My daily life was bringing me so much in con- 
tact with human suffering and sin that if I had 
been saddened I had also grown tenderer by it, and 


158 


WE THREE. 


had been drawn nearer, with other burdens than 
my own, to the compassionate heart of the great 
Physician. But Phil, differently surrounded, hold- 
ing his own steadfast way through temptations, 
so honorable himself, so inflexible in his integrity, 
felt only contempt for Bob’s weakness and anger 
for his wrong-doing, and expressed his opinion so 
freely and scornfully that there was a constantly 
widening breach between the two. I hoped, though 
I scarcely knew why, that Phil did not suspect 
what suddenly flashed itself upon my knowledge 
one day as I stood with my brother in the door- 
way. A breath of wind sweeping toward me, a 
look in his eyes — I scarcely know what — whispered 
it with the full force of certainty. I spoke it 
abruptly, without an instant’s thought: 

“ Bobert Howland, you have been drinking !” 

He started, flushed, then laughed nervously : 

“ Of course ; that’s an astounding discovery ! 
Did you ever know any one who could live without 
drinking?” 

“ Drinking liquor — intoxicating liquor,” I per- 
sisted. 

“ Stare me out of countenance, now !” He tried 
to laugh again. “I declare, since you have be- 
come a full-fledged M. D., you are always looking 
in a fellow’s face as if you were in search of fits or 
fevers. What possesses you ?” 

“ I am pretty certain of what I see, but give me 
just one word — your word, Bob — and I’ll own 


WE THREE. 


159 


that I am mistaken now more gladly than I ever 
owned anything before in my life.” 

He was silent a moment; then he looked up : 

“ Perhaps you are right. But look here, Win ! 
don’t go to imagining things. As surely as I stand 
here, I never was intoxicated in my life, and I do 
not mean to be. I know the danger if one gets to 
caring for liquor. I take it sometimes with the 
boys because I can’t very well help it and not 
because I like it, and so am safe. If I did care 
for it — if I ever do — I will stop it the moment I 
find it out. Don’t worry. I know what it is to 
become a drunkard, and I am not a fool.” 

Was he not? I wondered — he, who seemed to 
know no law stronger than his own pleasure, to al- 
low a habit to grow with the idea of checking it 
when its indulgence should have become a thing 
that he craved. But I could not induce him to 
look upon it as anything but a trivial matter ; he 
resented my suggestions of danger as insulting : 

“ Haven’t I told you that I do not care for it ? 
Do you think I have neither honor nor conscience 
nor common sense, that you talk to me in this style 
about it? I should call it a direct insult from any- 
body but you, Win. It would make no difference 
to me if I never saw it again. I should not miss 
it, and so it can make no difference if I do take it 
now and then to please some fellow that urges me. 
There’s no use in being fanatical. They are no 
drunkards on that road, I can tell you. Such a 


160 


WE THREE. 


man couldn’t hold a place there, though some of 
them can stand a great deal without showing it, 
that’s a fact. But you forget how much they have 
to be up nights, how many extra trips they have, 
and how often they are chilled and tired. It seems 
as if they needed something of the sort sometimes. 
But I only take it occasionally with some fellow 
who would feel hurt if I didn’t. That’s all there 
is about it. Don’t make a bugbear out of 
nothing.” 

Agnes saw it soon, if, indeed, she had not known 
it longer than I. 

“ He has no natural or inherited taste for any- 
thing of the sort, Agnes; that is one comfort,” I 
said, offering her what consolation there was. 

“So much the less excuse for him, then,” she 
answered, sadly. “ But he is my brother — my own ! 
I will hold him through everything. I will never 
give him up, never !” she exclaimed, only the sud- 
den fervor of the resolution betraying how much 
she feared. It was her love’s defiance to the very 
spirit of evil. 

Over the hopes and fears, the dangers and sor- 
rows, our outward life flowed busily. There was 
sickness in the village — in the outskirts partic- 
ularly, where were the poor little homes that had 
grown up along the railway — a fierce contagious 
fever that called for constant attendance and care- 
ful study, and for a skillful nursing that was hard 
to obtain. The disease had scarcely begun to abate 


WE THREE. 


161 


when Dr. Graylie was himself stricken down by 
illness, and for days I was oppressed by a fearful 
weight of work and responsibility. 

Phil, too, was fully occupied. The mills ap- 
peared to have become a moving panorama of 
workmen, so continual was the changing, the com- 
ing and going. There was no management or sys- 
tem about the place. It seemed all hands and no 
head ; and the young proprietor had awakened to 
the fact that his new toy, though interesting, was 
ruinous, and he evinced a desire to dispose of it 
as speedily as possible. 

To accomplish that very satisfactorily, however, 
it was necessary to become more thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the exact position of affairs than he 
had previously been. Partly because he had taken 
a fancy to Phil, and partly because there was no 
other so competent from a general knowledge of 
the business to assist him, he had appealed to Phil ; 
and there had been long days spent in the office 
over miserably tangled and confused books, misty 
bills, unintelligible accounts and general evidences 
of mismanagement. 

“ You know how things stand here — what there 
is and what there should be, and what things are 
worth — and Pm sure I do not. I shall have to 
leave it to you ; so just get matters into shape and 
order if you can,” was the single broad direction 
Mr. Croyden vouchsafed. 

Meanwhile, clearer heads and keener eyes than 
11 


162 


WE THREE. 


those of the young proprietor had observed the 
place, noted its advantages and considered its pos- 
sibilities. Propositions to purchase were made, and 
the process of “ getting into shape ” was somewhat 
interrupted by long talks in the office. Mr. Croy- 
den relied upon Phil for information and accepted 
his opinion in regard to values; and after a deal 
of consulting, examining, proposing and com- 
promising, a sale was finally effected. 

“ And are you glad that it has changed owners?” 
asked Agnes, when Phil brought home the intel- 
ligence. 

“ I cannot tell. These new parties are evidently 
practical business-men, and the change will prob- 
ably be a benefit to the place generally. How it 
may affect me personally I do not know. For the 
present I shall have my hands full in finishing for 
them what I began for Mr. Croyden, for they 
could see clearly enough that their bargain was a 
good one, and they were not anxious to wait for a 
thorough clearing up and statement in detail before 
they completed their purchase.” 


CHAPTER X. 


PRING had come, said the calendars, but 
the face of Mother Nature flatly contra- 
dicted the story. It was a cold, wet sea- 
son, with day after day of slow, steadily- 
falling rain that beat mournfully against the 
windows and hung in heavy teardrops from every 
branch aud twig of the leafless trees. A low, sad 
breath of wind went moaning through the earth as 
if in search of something lost, awakening strange 
echoes in human hearts. 

I noticed and felt the dreariness the more be- 
cause I could do little else than watch and listen. 
I was but just rallying from a slow prostrating 
fever which had kept me indoors for weeks, the 
result of over-work and want of care. 

“ Wearisome, but nothing alarming, Miss Agnes. 
We will have him about again directly; and he 
will learn to take a little care of the doctor here- 
after while he is attending to the patients,” said 
Dr. Graylie, with a cool forgetfulness of his own 
recent illness that amused me. 

Strength returned slowly even after the fever 
had burned itself away. The quiet seemed strange 

163 



164 


WE THREE. 


and irksome after long months of constant activity ; 
but I was too weak for exertion, too languid for 
study, and could only divide the weary hours be- 
tween some light reading and watching from my 
windows the steadily-falling rain that was drench- 
ing the earth, swelling the mountain streams and 
raising the river to a wild flood. 

“ The water is fearfully high,” said Phil one 
noon, pausing by my easy-chair for a moment’s 
talk. “ It must have caused considerable damage 
about here, for the river has been filled with float- 
ing timber and odd-looking wrecks all day. It is 
still rising, too.” 

“ It may visit the foundry,” I suggested. “ Has 
it reached the yard yet ?” 

“No; not much danger of that. But it is all 
around that old lower warehouse. They have re- 
moved everything from the lower story, and the 
men had to wade out this morning to do it. How- 
ever, it has stopped raining now, and the sky looks 
a trifle brighter ; I hope it is going to clear up at 
last.” 

“Come home early to-night; I believe Win is 
growing lonely, with no company but grandmother’s 
and mine,” said Agnes, laughingly, as he left the 
room. 

The house had indeed been unusually still. Phil 
had been kept so busily at work, and Rob had not 
been at home for days. Poor Rob ! It was doubt- 
ful if his presence brought much cheer to any of 


WE THREE. 


165 


us in those days; for even when at home and in 
his happiest mood, he gave us so much cause for 
anxiety. 

“ He is killing Agnes. She worries all the time 
when he does not come, for fear some evil will 
happen, and she is troubled all the time he is here, 
because of what she cannot help seeing has hap- 
pened,” said Phil, bitterly. 

I noticed her particularly that evening — how 
involuntarily she started at every sound, and how 
constantly her eyes sought the window as it drew 
near time for Rob’s train to be in. It was in the 
direction of the d6pot that her gaze turned, though 
she said no word of expecting him, and though it 
was ostensibly for Phil that supper was waiting. 
Phil, notwithstanding her charge, tarried later than 
usual that night, and finally sent a messenger 
instead of coming himself. 

“The wather’s got round the office a bit — not 
much, but it’s like to get damp in the lower part. 
An’ Misther Philip he said he’d better see every- 
thing put away safe an’ square; an’ if ye’ll have 
a bite of supper put in a basket for him, that I can 
take when I’m cornin’ back, he’ll stay intil the 
avening whiles,” said Pat, the watchman. 

Agnes packed the basket as desired ; but when 
our own meal was over, she placed tea and muffins 
where they would keep warm, and catching my eye 
said, with an attempt at careless playfulness, 

“ Our railroad boy may be home yet.” 


166 


WE THREE. 


“ Possibly, but it is not very probable. He 
should have been here half an hour ago if he had 
come in to-night, ” I answered. 

“ I know; but he may have had some business — 
something to detain him at the depot ; he does some- 
times.” 

There was a something that occasionally kept 
him from coming home at all, even when he was 
in the place, as I well knew ; but I did not say it. 

Grandmother, wearied, and beginning to feel 
more of the infirmities of age now, presently with- 
drew to her own room, and Agnes and I were 
alone. My sister bent busily over her sewing, and 
from dreamily watching her flying fingers I finally 
dropped into deeper dreaming in my comfortable 
position on the lounge. I do not know how long I 
had slept — some hours it seemed — when the open- 
ing of a window aroused me. Agnes was look- 
ing out anxiously, but turned at my first move- 
ment. 

“ What is it?” I asked. 

“ There is such a noise — shouting and people 
running. I do not know what it means,” she 
answered, with a vague alarm in her voice. 

I went to her side and opened the window still 
farther. Some unusual excitement had certain ly 
disturbed the village, for the sound of hurried 
voices and hasty steps increased, and suddenly the 
railroad and foundry bells pealed out an alarm. 
There was no sign of fire on the clouded sky. 


WE THREE . 


167 


“ Holloa !” I shouted as some one ran up the 
road near us. “ What is the trouble ?” 

The man halted but a moment. 

“ Is it you, doctor? It’s the river — the river 
broken through the dike near the foundry — swept 
like a reg’lar flood and carried away the office — 
floating down,” he answered, in a breathless, dis- 
jointed way, and hastened on. 

“The office?” I repeated, in a bewildered way, 
trying to comprehend the intelligence. But Agnes 
understood in an instant. 

“Philip !” she exclaimed. 

“Isn’t he at home? Hasn’t he come?” I cried, 
starting at the name. 

“ No. I must go, Win — I must go ! There 
will be others — Nothing can harm me, and I must 
go; I cannot stay here and wait,” she answered, 
wildly, gathering up her shawl and hood as she 
spoke. 

“ To the river ? We will both go,” I said, for 
the stillness and suspense seemed intolerable to me 
also. She looked at me wonderingly, but the ex- 
citement lent me strength ; and though I had not 
been out of the house for weeks, I felt far stronger 
to go than to stay, and under my persistence her 
faint protests died. 

We turned our steps in the direction in which 
the other hurrying feet had tended, and made our 
way through the wind and the darkness of the 
night as rapidly as my weakness would allow. 


168 


WE THREE. 


“ We shall probably meet Phil/’ I said, catching 
at a hope after the first tumult of fear. “ The rush 
of water may not have been so sudden that he had 
no warning ; it is quite likely that he escaped before 
the building was carried away.” 

“ Perhaps so ; yes,” Agnes answered, mechan- 
ically — a tone that expressed no belief in the sup- 
position. 

There were life and activity enough on the river- 
bank below the village when we reached it. Fires 
kindled here and there threw their red glare out over 
the dark water, and a motley crowd had collected on 
the shore, some working excitedly, others watching 
and calculating chances with curious coolness. Many 
faces and forms stood out clearly in the firelight, 
while the farther groups looked like dark shadows 
flitting to and fro. We only glanced at them, and 
turned our eyes in the direction so many other eyes 
were taking — up the river, where a black moving 
mass was dimly discernible through the gloom. 

“ Coming down now,” said a voice near us. 
“ Got stopped a bit up above some way, and they 
thought they’d be able to get to it ; but it’s whirled 
loose and coming down again.” 

“ Poor chance of anybody getting to it — dread- 
ful slim chance, I’d say,” answered another. “ Who 
did they say was on it? Young Howland? Well, 
I think he’s about — ” 

“Hush!” interrupted the first speaker, sharply, 
with a warning side-glance at us. 


WE THREE. 


169 


Others seemed to recognize us, and moved silently 
aside as we drew near. There was a great deal of 
watching and eager but aimless bustle, no one 
seeming to know quite what to do. 

“ Why don’t they send out a boat or something ?” 
questioned a woman’s sharp, half-querulous voice. 

“ What’s the good of that? Think there ain’t 
enough goin’ to be drowned as ’tis?” retorted 
another, with a disagreeable laugh. 

Agnes shuddered, but was silent ; she had not 
spoken since w r e reached the shore. As the build- 
ing floated slowly on, rounding a curve, we caught 
a glimpse of light from an upper window. The 
crowd saw it, and a faint, suppressed murmur ran 
through the ranks. Suddenly there was a move- 
ment among a group down by the water’s edge. 

“ What be they trying for now ? Land sakes ! 
I do say !” piped Mrs. Stetson’s unmistakable 
tones. 

Agnes shrank closer to my side, as if not wish- 
ing to be noticed or addressed, but listened breath- 
lessly to the reply that came in a gruffer voice : 

“ Trying to push out ahead and come near 
enough to throw a rope or take him off; I don’t 
rightly understand the notion. It’s that young 
fellow; he’s a brave one, but it’s no use trying 
this.” 

We pressed past the knot of talkers down to the 
river’s brink, where the men were preparing the 
boat and throwing in ropes. A young, agile, 


170 


WE THREE. 


athletic figure was in the centre of the party, work- 
ing and directing with an almost fierce rapidity. 
He turned, and the firelight fell full upon his face. 

“ Rob !” I exclaimed. 

At the same moment we caught his glance, and 
he sprang toward us. 

“ You here, Win ?” he cried, in surprise. “ Yes; 
I’m going out. I heard at the d6pot, and hurried 
up ; there’s a chance. But you shouldn’t be here, 
Win ; it’ll kill you.” 

“ It will kill you ! Oh, Rob !” moaned Agnes. 
Yet there was no tone of dissuasion in the wailing 
voice. 

“ It may cost my life — it may save Phil’s. 
There’s a chance,” repeated Rob. 

“ If I could but go with you !” I murmured, 
half wild at my own helplessness. 

“ No ; take care of Agnes,” he answered, with a 
significant look that deepened the meaning of the 
words. Then he wrung my hand as for a farewell 
that might mean for ever, and with a hoarse 
half-whispered “ Pray !” to Agnes leaped into the 
boat. 

As if every thought were not a prayer while we 
watched! The boat pushed out into the wild, 
wreck-strewn stream, and then arose a chorus of 
shouts to the adventurous boatman — warnings of 
peril and calls to return — from those who had but 
just discovered the hazardous attempt at rescue. 

“ He knows how to manage a boat as well as the 


WE THREE. 


171 


next one, but it’ll be little good to him on such a 
water as this,” commented one who had assisted in 
launching the little craft. 

“Two lives instead of one; that’s all there’ll be 
of it,” added a neighbor. 

I had a vague consciousness that they talked on, 
but I heard no more ; eyes and heart were on the 
river, where the solitary boatman and his frail craft 
now appeared in the light, now disappeared in the 
shadow, gaining slowly — so slowly — on the danger- 
ous path. Some heavy floating timbers, parts of a 
fallen bridge, attracted my attention and held it 
with a fearful fascination. Others had seen it also, 
and again a warning cry arose. Rob heard and 
partly turned his skiff, then apparently lost control 
of it. It swung about hopelessly, and the drifting 
mass seemed crashing down upon it. A low cry 
like an audible shudder ran through the crowd. 
The pieces of timber separated more widely and 
were borne on, and seemingly from their very 
midst the boat and its occupant appeared once 
more, shot out into the light, and were again lost 
in the shadow. 

The floating building, one end dipping fearfully, 
came presently into the glow of the firelight. The 
people only gazed at it in a bewildered, helpless 
way ; they could do nothing. 

“ Philip! Philip!” I shouted, with my utmost 
strength of voice, with only a vague thought of 
letting him know that we were near — that we saw. 


172 


WE THREE. 


A faint answering hail came back, the words 
not distinguishable, as the black walls drifted 
slowly by. 

After that it seemed hours. The fires burned 
low and were replenished ; the moon broke through 
the black clouds for a moment, and then was bur- 
ied again; and the people kept up their dreary 
undertone of talk and wondering : 

“Any sign of ’em yet?” 

“No; nor ever will be.” 

It seemed so, indeed. All the old life, with its 
cares and hopes and purposes, seemed to have 
drifted far away on this wild stream. There was 
nothing left but an endless watching — a straining 
of eyes through the darkness for something that 
could not come. Some rough-looking man with a 
gentle soul placed a log upon the bank, and with a 
pitying look at Agnes’ face motioned her to a seat 
upon it. She sank down wearily, but in a moment 
started, trembling with a new excitement : 

“ What was that?” 

“ Nothing. I heard nothing, ma’am.” 

“But I did — a faint shout from the water; I’m 
sure I heard it.” 

We listened, but there was no sound save the 
wash of the waves and the low murmur around us. 

“’Twas nothing, ma’am,” repeated the man, 
compassionately. 

“ Holloa !” called a startled voice farther up the 
bank. “ I saw that boat again just for an instant.” 



The Safe Deliverance 


Page 173 


































WE THREE. 


173 


" Humbug !” muttered several nearer voices. 

“ Tell that fellow to keep quiet,” said our new 
companion, indignantly, with another swift glance 
at Agnes. 

But a moment later many other eyes saw the 
boat, and a chorus of voices exclaimed, “ There 
are two in it !” 

The stranger walked away from us and uttered 
his guarded comment to a little knot of watchers 
near by : 

“ Even if they’re both in the skiff, there’s little 
chance that it’ll ever reach shore.” 

Yet it moved on slowly and carefully, making 
its way amid wrecks and dangers, now rowing up 
the stream, now dropping down a little to avoid the 
perils above it, but gradually nearing its haven, 
while the throng waited, hushed into a breathless 
silence. Nearer and nearer came the little skiff, 
threading its ways through the debris that cum- 
bered the water. The two figures were plainly vis- 
ible in the lurid light of the fires, but never for an 
instant relaxing their vigilance in a longing glance 
toward land and safety. 

At last — it had seemed ages first — the prow 
touched the shore. A score of strong hands 
grasped it, and a wild shout, cheer after cheer, 
broke from the crowd. Through the tumult Phil 
and Bob hastened to us, and we four looked again 
into each other’s faces. There are no words for 
looks like that. The veriest skeptic in such a mo- 


174 


WE THREE. 


ment would believe in immortality, and dimly feel, 
for that brief instant, what meetings might be be- 
yond the flood. 

Dr. Graylie’s practical every-day thoughtfulness 
broke upon our silent thanksgiving. 

" Are you insane, good folks, to stand here in 
this condition? There’s sure to be a hospital at 
your house to-morrow,” he said, glancing from the 
half-fainting Agnes to where I stood trembling 
with weakness, now that the fierce tension of nerves 
and will had relaxed, and then at Rob and Phil 
with their drenched clothing and faces pale from 
the long excitement. 

“ A hospital ? We can bear that ! It had nearly 
been a funeral,” said Rob, his voice quivering 
despite his effort to make it light. 

Phil turned and grasped Rob’s hand in a long 
close clasp, and relinquished it slowly and solemnly 
as if he had made a vow. Others thronged around 
us for questions and congratulations then, and 
Phil’s hand was shaken and Rob’s courage compli- 
mented until there appeared little chance of escap- 
ing from it all to our home. And by the time we 
had accomplished that feat our own tongues were 
fairly unloosed for a general comparing of expe- 
riences, and so the gray dawn peeped through the 
windows upon us before we separated. 

After all, and notwithstanding the doctor’s pre- 
diction, the next day brought no serious illness — 
“ only a sort of feeling comfortably miserable,” as 


WE THREE. 


175 


Agnes playfully phrased it. But Bob, our brave 
young hero of the night before, was wondrously 
unheroic by daylight. His train had gone out, his 
place supplied by some one else, and he was at 
home all day, but he was restless, moody and irri- 
table, his spirits at their lowest ebb. And when 
some kind-hearted neighbor ended a call with an 
expression of thankfulness for the saved lives, he 
muttered audibly that he did not consider his 
own a very great boon, and almost wished last night 
had ended it and he were well out of the world. 
Even Agnes was shocked and reproachful, but Phil 
was strangely gentle. 


CHAPTER XI. 


* HERE was need enough for forbearance in 
the weeks that followed. Rob grew even 
more reckless and uncontrollable than usual. 
Suppers and wild parties consumed nearly all 
his earnings. That mattered comparatively 
little, but twice, at least, he came home in a state 
of maudlin gayety more intolerable than his fits of 
deepest gloom. When he seemed himself again, 
Agnes reasoned, pleaded and wept, and was an- 
swered with a burst of remorseful self-upbraidings 
and vague promises. Yet in a few days the scene 
was repeated. 

“ Rob, you have no right to keep your train ; 
you are not fit to have the charge of other lives,” 
she said, with sad, calm sternness, at the last. 

“ I know what I am about, and there are plenty 
of other places where I am not considered such 
a reprobate as in my very respectable home,” Rob 
replied, angrily. “ Perhaps I had better stay where 
I am wanted.” And after that we did not see him 
for more than a week. 

The water had subsided, ebbed from the mill- 
yards and the lowlands along the river-side, leav- 
176 


WE THREE. 


177 


ing only the debris it had thrown up and the 
changed and scarred ground to tell of its brief 
triumph. At the foundry busy workmen were 
rapidly obliterating all traces of the flood, and the 
proprietors congratulated themselves that the dam- 
age was only such as could be easily repaired. 
One of them, making a round of examination, met 
Phil on a like tour: 

“Ah, Howland, you are at leisure. Your posi- 
tion floated away from you, eh ?” 

“ Not from me, but with me, unfortunately,” 
smiled Philip. 

“Yes; you did stick to it pretty well. It was 
a narrow chance — a very narrow escape,” added 
Mr. Vance, more gravely. “ Well, what next?’’ 

“ Back into the shop, I suppose. My work at 
the office was nearly completed before the water 
finished it. Fortunately, the building was an old 
one and not very valuable. You will soon have 
the new one ready for use.” 

“Yes. So you are going back into the shop? 
We wish it might not be quite in the old capacity.” 
Mr. Vance spoke rather hesitatingly. “ Howland, 
Mr. Croyden told us that you positively refused to 
accept the charge of the foundry here — that he 
offered you a superintendency more than once, and 
you declined it.” 

“ Yes ; I did do so.” 

“ Why, if you do not object to give your 
reason ?” 

12 


178 


WE THREE. 


“ Because I should have held the office merely in 
name, and not in reality. I knew that, as the 
business was conducted, I should have no real 
authority or control, and I did not care to take all 
the anxiety of a responsibility without any of the 
power of it,” answered Phil, promptly. 

“ Was that it?” Mr. Vance’s face brightened. 
<( Croyden fancied that you intended leaving here, 
and we had obtained that impression from him. 
Then you would not object to the situation in re- 
ality?” 

“ Upon certain conditions, certainly not, sir.” 

Mr. Vance laughed : 

“ Well, sir, we will have a talk in regard to con- 
ditions. Mr. Wheeler and I understand the bus- 
iness in a general way — theoretically — but we want 
some one here who has a thorough knowledge of 
it practically in all its details. We have often 
spoken of you in that connection, and should have 
spoken to you sooner but for the impression I have 
mentioned. Mr. Wheeler is in his room ; suppose 
we go in and discuss the matter.” 

Agnes’ dinner waited in vain for Phil that day. 
I lingered a little, wondering what could have de- 
tained him, and then went away on my own round 
of duties again. Late in the afternoon he came to 
our office — “ Drs. Gray lie and Howland ” a bright 
new sign proclaimed as proprietors — and finding 
me alone related the morning’s conversation and 
its results. 


WE THREE. 


179 


“ So you see I am to have entire charge of it in 
reality,” he concluded — “to engage and dismiss 
workmen according to my own judgment, and take 
the whole oversight of the work.” 

“ It is a great responsibility.” 

“Yes.” 

“ But you can take it ; it is the very place for 
you, Phil.” 

“ I trust so.” 

“ And the salary ?” 

“ Twelve hundred a year. It is not so very 
much, but — ” 

“ But we are not rich enough to be alarmingly 
familiar with money by thousands. It is a great 
deal to us,” I laughed. 

“ Yes, it is,” he answered, frankly. “ And I am 
young yet,” his eyes brightening. 

Then we dropped into one of the long talks that 
had grown more rare since our boyish days — a talk 
not quite so full of wild dreams and castle-building 
as the old ones, but rose-colored, surely, and filled 
with much planning of things that seemed possible 
now. Yet it had its undercurrent of sadness, too, 
for almost unconsciously the busy, useful future we 
purposed was for our two selves — not “ we three ” 
any more. Poor Rob ! 

Agnes’ cheeks were flushed that night and her 
eyes softly bright with the news that had gratified 
her loving ambition. I think she was wholly 
happy until, quite late, Rob came home, half 


180 


WE THREE. 


ashamed, half defiant, after his long absence. Phil 
banished embarrassment by interesting him at once 
in the day’s intelligence. Rob was thoroughly 
pleased, and seemed quite like his old self for a 
little while, talking of the matter in a bright, an- 
imated way. 

“ It’s encouraging to a poor fellow like me. Who 
knows but my chance will come yet, and I shall 
get to be president of the road or something ?” he 
laughed, at last. Then his mood suddenly changed; 
he muttered something about his miserable luck 
being always against him ; and dropping his head 
between his hands, he grew gloomy and silent. 

“ Nonsense, Rob ! A fellow that can paddle his 
own canoe as you rowed that one for me a few 
nights ago needn’t talk about luck,” said Phil, 
cheerily. 

But Rob made little answer, and presently hur- 
ried away to bed. Agnes looked after him wist- 
fully and sighed. Then she crossed the room to a 
low footstool at grandmother’s feet : 

“ We will be thankful for the blessings we do 
have, won’t we, grandma? And we are glad. 
Wasn’t it a pleasant surprise?” 

“Yes, pleasant, but not much surprise,” said 
grandmother’s quiet voice. “ I am always expect- 
ing good to my boys — good to them all” 

That last little word comforted Agnes. Her face 
grew more restful ; but after a moment she whis- 
pered, softly, 


WE THREE. 


181 


“ Why?” 

“ Because of God’s 1 Whatsoever/ child — ‘ What- 
soever ye ask — ’ ” 

“ But all prayers are not answered — only those 
according to his will ; it comes to that at last/’ said 
Agnes, a little doubtingly. 

“ That’s the comfort. * It is not according to his 
will that any should perish — that first; then after- 
ward, ‘ All things work together for good to them 
who love him.’ ” 

Improvements and repairs "were carried forward 
speedily at the iron-mill, and Phil was soon in- 
stalled in his new office. A world of enthusiasm 
and energy he brought to the work in his fresh 
young zeal. It was an opportunity to carry out 
the projects he had so often planned while delving 
in his sand-heap, to right the wrongs and remedy 
the wastes he had so long observed, and to smooth 
out countless crookednesses that he had often pon- 
dered before he ever dreamed of their being placed 
in his hands to straighten. 

He liked the work, and for the most part the 
workmen liked him and greeted him with hearty 
good-will in his new capacity. Some petty jealousy 
there was, as might have been expected, some in- 
vidious remarks and unfriendly acts toward one 
who had risen from their ranks. Some few easy- 
going, unambitious and barely honest souls objected 
to the new order of things also — to the regular 
hours and the strict keeping of time — declaring, 


182 


WE THREE. 


in an aside not always meant to be inaudible, 
that working-folks had hard enough times be- 
fore without any young upstart trying to make 
them harder. But for the most part those about 
the place hailed the change gladly, since it would 
afford skill and industry a chance to win their 
proper reward and appreciation, instead of keeping 
them upon a level with carelessness and indolence, 
which had been too often the case under the old 
regime. 

Phil was patient and slow to take offence with 
the first class — wondrously so, I thought, knowing 
that his own integrity, earnestness and justice made 
him usually swift to condemn those who pursued 
an opposite course. But now, while he held his 
way steadily, he seemed not inclined to notice un- 
kindly criticisms : 

“They have fallen into that slipshod way of 
work, and think any change is a hardship. They 
cannot understand that it is quite as much for their 
benefit as that of any one else. Most of the men 
have more sense, and the few will learn it after a 
while, I hope. And in the mean while, I don’t 
want to make any trouble, so I do not seem to hear 
their complaints. They need work too badly to be 
sent away, poor souls !” 

“That is taking a charitable view of it, Phil; 
more so than — ” 

“Than you expected from me?” said Phil, fin- 
ishing the sentence with a smile. “ Perhaps,” he 


WE THREE. 


183 


added, coloring slightly and speaking hesitatingly, 
“ I may be better fitted for my position now than 
I should have been before that fearful trip down 
the river.” 

I wondered what that night’s experience had 
been, but he said nothing beyond those few grave 
words. 

The old home blossomed into new beauty that 
summer. Many long-needed improvements were 
rendered possible by our increased means and more 
assured income, and countless little innocent tastes 
and fancies could now be gratified. Rob viewed 
these changes half with pleasure, half with pain, 
now “ delighted that the establishment needn’t be 
screwed and pinched on every side,” as he said, 
then again seeming bitter and gloomy because he 
had no part in bringing about the pleasant changes, 
yet through it all quick to resent any intimation 
that he might have done differently or better. It 
was all his “ miserable luck and as for the money 
worse than wasted with wild companions, “ a fel- 
low might as well be out of the world if he cannot 
be generous and social.” There was not so much 
comfort in life that people need grudge him the 
few good t'hnes he did have. 

His visits home grew more irregular, his ab- 
sences longer, and I felt a secret fear that he w’ould 
leave us altogether. Meanwhile, the current of 
our outer every-day life flowed on smoothly. Mr. 
McKenzie, among us again on a brief visit, con- 


184 


WE THREE. 


gratulated us on what he called “ gettin’ on amazin , 
well, considerin’ But even while we talked I 
noted Agnes’ covert listening for a step that did 
not come, and felt a sudden longing to give up 
what the years had won and go back to the old 
days if so there could be again “ we three,” with 
hopes, purposes and interests undivided. 

“ You see,” said Mr. McKenzie, “ everything 
has kind of growed up, place and all, sence we’ve 
been away. Don’t s’pose that had anything to do 
with it, but then it sort of gives a man a feelin’ as 
if he wished he’d stayed and helped do the buildin’ 
up. Not but what I’m contented enough where I 
am, an’ the boys they air, too ; an’ I s’pose it’s best 
all round, on the whole. There’s lots of new faces 
here now. Expect the railroad-shops bein’ here 
brings a good many, an’ the foundry, too, mebby, 
seein’ the new owners are smart, push-ahead bus- 
iness-men. That feller goin’ along there now is a 
new one to me.” 

“I never saw him before, either,” said Phil, 
scanning the tall lank figure and keen, strangely- 
marked face whose possessor seemed intent upon 
watching our group as he passed slowly up the 
road. 

The next evening, as Phil and I were together 
examining a grape-vine in the yard, the same face 
looked over a fence near us. 

“ Say ! reckon I’m the fellow you want,” an- 
nounced the stranger, in a low, slightly nasal voice. 


WE THREE. 


185 


“ Well, we seem to have you,” remarked Phil, 
recovering from his momentary astonishment, while 
I still looked at the man in bewilderment. 

“ Want to hire,” added the stranger, by way of 
explanation. 

Phil looked at me questioningly. 

“I don’t want to hire anybody, certainly,” I 
answered. 

“ No, you,” said the man, nodding toward Phil. 
“ You’re the mill one, ain’t you?” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ Well, then, I’m the fellow you want to hire.” 

“ I’m not sure about that,” said Phil, amused. 
“I do not know that I want to hire anybody just 
now; and if I knew that I did, I’m not at all cer- 
tain that you are the one.” 

“ Well, if you hain’t got a partic’lar man about 
your place that can do all sorts of odd jobs, and is 
handy at any of them, and willing and obliging 
and honest, then you need such a one ; and if you 
need such a one, I’m the fellow,” said the new 
applicant, with cheerful perseverance. 

“ Where did you come from?” I questioned, 
growing interested. 

“Zenoby — last place in Pennsylvania, that is. 
Been way East and way West, for that ; but I’m kind 
of settling down now, ’count of having my little 
gran’darter left me for a legacy two years ago — lit- 
tle Nan.” 

u What is your name ?” asked Phil. 


186 


WE THREE. 


“Old Zack. Zack Butler is the straight on’t, 
but in general it’s old Zack.” 

There was a pause, in which he stroked his griz- 
zled beard, surveyed our ground with his keen eyes, 
whistled a little, looked up and down the road, 
then he turned suddenly to Phil again : 

“ Well, sir, better come on Monday mornin’, 
hadn’t I, bright and early? ‘Early bird catches 
the worm.’ ” 

“I’m doubtful about there being any worm to 
catch,” laughed Phil. “ I might give you two or 
three days’ work about the mill-yard, piling lum- 
ber, moving rubbish and such-like, but I cannot 
promise you any steady employment.” 

“ All right,” said the old man, cheerily. “ We 
ain’t told to pray for any more’n this day’s bread ; 
and if you should promise me work for a year 
ahead, I mightn’t live to do it, so I suppose two or 
three days is enough at once. I’ll be on time, sir. 
Evenin’;” and with a little bob of the old hat, he 
walked briskly away up the road. 

“ There’s an oddity for you,” said Phil, looking 
after him. “ I must keep him busy for a day or 
two if it is only to see what new specimen of 
humanity he is.” 

I came across him while I was making my 
rounds the next day, Saturday. He was moving 
into a tumble-down little house on the outskirts of 
the village, if placing under the shelter of its 
rather dilapidated roof the few articles of furniture 


WE THREE. 


187 


he possessed could be called moving in. There 
was a little girl with him, a quaint, womanly little 
figure, in an odd dress that might have resulted 
from the combined skill of herself and grandfather, 
and a small, brown, grave face, with a pair of dark 
gray eyes looking out from under a faded sunbon- 
net. The old man recognized me at a glance and 
called blithely : 

“ You see I’m gettin’ ready for business, doctor.” 

“ I should think you were in business. Did you 
think it would pay to take a house on the slender 
prospect of work my brother gave you ?” 

“ Must live somewhere, sir, and I don’t have to 
pay much for this. ’Tain’t particular good, neither, 
but then I’ll have the roof all snug and tight afore 
night. As for the prospect, I rather calkilate I’ll 
stay at that mill.” 

“ But if you shouldn’t ?” 

“ Go somewhere else, then ; it’s an ill wind that 
blows nowhere, says I. This is my gran’darter — 
little Nan.” 

“ I keep house for gramfer,” said the child, 
pushing back the old bonnet and lifting her quiet 
eyes to my face. 

“You do?” I asked, touched and amused. 
“ And who takes care of you ?” 

“ God and gramfer,” she answered, simply. 
“ Mother said they would, and they do.” 

I walked away feeling not at all sure that old 
Zack had not “ calkilated ” correctly about his stay 


188 


WE THREE. 


at the mill. It might be of long duration if 
Agnes and Phil once saw little Nan. 

An opportunity for that olfered speedily, for 
while we sat at dinner that day there came a timid 
knock at the kitchen door ; and when Agnes an- 
swered the summons, the child stood on the steps : 

“ Please, ma’am, gramfer says could you give 
us a loaf of bread and a little tea till we get set 
up a-housekeeping ?” she asked, gravely. 

“ Housekeeping ?” repeated Agnes, scanning the 
odd little figure with surprise. 

But I claimed her as an acquaintance and ex- 
plained a little, so that Agnes went for the desired 
articles, while Phil, half laughing, half perplexed, 
watched the proceeding. 

“ So your grandfather thinks he shall stay here, 
does he ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir, ’cause he likes you and he says you 
is going to like him,” answered Nan, with one of 
her earnest, honest glances. “He’s real good, 
gramfer is.” 

“Yes. Well? And you think you like this 
place ?” 

“ Yes, sir, ’cause we don’t know nowheres else to 
go, and we ’spects to stay.” 

Agnes brought the bread and tea. 

“ Is that all you need to start you in housekeep- 
ing?” she asked, trying to look as serious as the 
dignity of the small housekeeper seemed to de- 
mand. 


WE THREE. 


189 


“Yes’m. Gramfer said if we needed anything 
else real bad we’d just come for it.” 

“Oh, did he? Well !” said Agnes, with vary- 
ing expression. 

The little one lifted her parcels, and with an odd 
flop of the old sunbonnet, intended for a parting 
bow, turned away. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if you had a pensioner as 
well as a laborer,” remarked Agnes, laughing. 

“ A nuisance, I’m afraid,” said Phil, with a touch 
of vexation. 

But just then little Nan appeared on the steps 
again. 

“ I forgot to say if gramfer and me could ’com- 
modate you anyways, just ask us, ’cause we likes 
to help folks,” she offered, earnestly, as if any 
amount of assistance lay in her power. 

“Thank you, dear,” said Agnes, suddenly 
touched and softened, and all annoyance and un- 
charitable surmises vanished as we watched the 
quaint, sedate little form trudge away up the 
street. 

The two, Zack and little Nan, were in the church 
next day, the old man beaming cheerfully, the 
little girl quietly content. They were an odd- 
enough pair in dress and general appearance to 
attract many curious glances, but they seemed un- 
conscious of them, only greeting us with a pleased 
look of recognition when we passed them on the 
way out. 


190 


WE THREE. 


Zack was punctually at his post on Monday 
morning, and worked faithfully and well all the 
day. The two or three days lengthened into weeks, 
and still Phil found plenty of work for him to do, 
and there was no word of his going. In truth, no 
description of him could have been more faithful 
than his own — “ Willing and obliging and handy 
and honest.” And so he became, as he so compla- 
cently prophesied, a necessary adjunct to the mill. 


CHAPTER XII. 


* 6 ^ 

r |fff|HEN God’s messengers stand at our gates, 
6)11 1 how seldom we recognize them as his ! Zack 
ylljr appeared to us at first as only an odd old 
tramp seeking work — one whose employ- 
ment there was but a matter of charity. 
Afterward, when he had won his place, he was only 
an ignorant, faithful laborer, with foibles to be 
good-naturedly tolerated and many eccentricities 
to be laughed at. Yet looking back now, I can see 
how he changed our lives, and that he brought to 
us — ay, and taught to us — as pure a chapter of 
the gospel as if he had come white-robed and shin- 
ing-winged. 

He seemed to feel a sort of proprietorship in 
Phil, his home and surroundings, and gradually 
included us all in an oversight and patronage that 
was amusing. Did our cow stray from proper 
bounds, Zack was sure to discover and drive her 
home. Did a picket or rail fall from our fences, 
Zack was on hand with hammer and nails before 
we had noticed the deficiency. He knew when 
Agnes’ vines needed a trellis to climb on, when 
the shed-roof leaked, when the scissors needed 

191 


192 


WE THREE. 


grinding, and when our hens stole nests in the 
wood, and he superintended and remedied each 
and all of these matters, and countless others, in 
the most easy and natural way in the word. 

So it happened that he w r as a constant visitor, 
and presently he began to bring various village 
items, chiefly concerning persons connected with 
the mill, to our notice. 

“ Mind that little fellow that’s been scratching 
ware for us lately — Jimmy Blake?” Zack would 
suddenly ask from a perch on the fence-top or a 
horizontal rest upon the grass. “ Smart sort of a 
fellow. Well, his mother’s mighty poorly this 
summer — thin as a shadow, and don’t eat nothing. 
I was just a-thinking when I trimmed them berry- 
bushes that if Miss Agnes would have a few rasp- 
berries picked and take them over to that poor 
body they’d likely taste ’mazing good.” 

Then another day it would be : “ Missed that 
Dutchman that’s been working in the yard ? Well, 
he ain’t staying away for no evil. He sprained his 
wrist powerful bad t’other day. Expect if you’d 
go and see him it would be sort of consoling like, 
’specially if the doctor’d go along and tell him 
what to put on that wrist of his. Why, it’s swelled 
up ’most like a fence-rail.” 

Neither visit would have been thought of but 
for Zack, but, once brought to our notice, neither 
could be refused ; and after they were made, and 
gladly received, others followed naturally. 


WE THREE. 


193 


Occasionally he brought a case calling for more 
substantial help : “ That man that had his leg took 
off on the railroad is getting along pretty well, 
only I do b’lieve he’s worryin’ ’bout his family an’ 
things. His wood-pile’s dreadful low, I’m sure. 
Don’t know as he’d want nobody told ’bout it, 
only I don’t think it’s right to ’prive folks of the 
blessing of giving. It’s a great priv’lege, that is.” 

We might have suspected the talkative old Zack 
of a desire to earn cheaply, at other people’s ex- 
pense, a reputation for benevolence, if we had not 
speedily learned that little Nan had gathered wild 
berries for the sick woman, that Zack himself had 
carried wood and water for the lame Dutchman, and 
that his own slender income had helped to replen- 
ish the failing wood-pile before he had appealed to 
any one else. 

“ Zack, I should think it would be all you could 
do to get along yourself,” said Phil, one evening, 
after this last instance had come to his knowledge. 

“Get along? Well, I suppose ’tis. Hain’t got 
lots of things I might use very comfortable, if 
that’s what you mean.” 

“And yet you are all the time trying to help 
other people ?” 

“ Ho !” Zack laughed. “ I’m a-thinking if a 
fellow waited to get all his own worriments done 
up out of the way ’fore he helped anybody else, he 
wouldn’t be much use to any folks in this w^orld.” 

But that was what we had done. Our early 
13 


194 


WE THREE. 


struggles and anxieties had bound us closely to- 
gether, and in a measure kept us from seeking 
other society. We had dreamed bright wild 
dreams of the great good we would some time do, 
when, as Zack phrased it, our “own worriments 
were all done up but in the mean while we had 
tried to do nothing, and our seclusiveness was grow- 
ing unconsciously into selfishness. But Zack’s 
quaint, trustful large-heartedness acted like a leaven 
that gradually changed our whole lives, and there 
was little danger of lacking opportunities for use- 
fulness with his hand continually flinging our doors 
wide open for some one. 

The interest he took in everything going on 
around him, and the amount of help he contrived 
to render to every good cause, was wonderful. Now 
he had enlisted a troop of boys to put the church- 
grounds in order, now he had gathered up a set 
of forlorn children for somebody’s Sunday-school 
class. 

“Can’t be one of the captings in there,” he 
laughed, pointing to the church door — “ don’t know 
enough ; but I suppose there’s nothing to hinder 
my being a recruiting-sergeant and bringin’ in a 
squad now and then for somebody else to drill.” 

“ I believe you are never too busy, Zack, to do 
a little more,” remarked Phil. 

“ Don’t know ’bout that. If you mean this kind 
of work, though,” glancing at the church, into 
which he had just marshaled his band, “ why, it’s 


WE THREE. 


195 


this way." He paused, stroked his grizzled beard 
thoughtfully a moment, and then suddenly asked, 

“ I reckon, when I get too busy with my own 
affairs to 'tend to the work you took me into the 
mill for, you'll turn me out pretty quick, eh ?" 

“ I don't think there's much danger of it, Uncle 
Zack," laughed Phil. 

“But you would, wouldn’t you?" 

“Very likely, if you insist on supposing the 
case." 

“ Well, see here," pursued the old man, impres- 
sively : “ do you suppose the Lord is a slacker, 
poorer manager than you be, that he’ll excuse folks 
for neglecting the very work he sent 'em into the 
world to do 'cause they're busy with some trifling 
things of their own ? I reckon not." 

Agnes began to pay frequent visits to the little 
house in the suburbs, to supply quietly some of 
the “ things that might be used comfortably," and 
to bring little Nan home with her for long, pleas- 
ant visits. Under her skillful planning the child's 
odd dress was remodeled, and the sober little maiden 
beamed with quiet happiness over her new attire. 

“ I guess you're helping God and gramfer ; 
mother said they'd take care of me," she said, 
gratefully. “Do you know the verse 'bout his 
‘ little ones ' ? 'Cause I'm one of 'em." 

After that she came oftener still, and Agnes' care 
and love for her increased ; for love it soon grew 
to be. There were aprons for Nannie in the work- 


196 


WE THREE. 


basket, little pies for Nannie in the Saturday’s bak- 
ing and lessons for Nannie in the long afternoon. 
Her presence brightened and gladdened our home, 
and the old grandfather, well pleased, watched his 
darling so quietly winning her way. She grew to 
be the pet of the household, and loved us all in re- 
turn ; but, strangely enough, her favorite was Hob. 
She watched for his irregular visits, submitted qui- 
etly to his teasing, though it evidently puzzled her, 
answered to the name of “ Midget,” and gave him 
unhesitatingly the grave kisses for which the others 
sometimes coaxed. 

“You are partial, Nannie,” said Agnes, half 
laughingly, half wonderingly. “You love him 
most.” 

“ I guess,” answered Nannie, slowly, with a 
thoughtful look in her dark eyes, as if she were 
considering the matter — “ I guess it’s ’cause he’s 
the lonesomest,” hesitating a little over the last 
word. 

Agnes’ eyes filled with tears. A strange, sad 
loneliness it was indeed that had drawn the child’s 
loving pity. 

Hob petted and teased the little one in his own 
careless way at first, but as he found that the sweet, 
earnest eyes were always “ watching for Mr. Hob ” 
when the train came in, and that the sometimes tired 
little feet never failed to run down to the end of 
the lane to wave him good-bye, his liking for her 
grew into something softer and tenderer. He be- 


WE THREE. 


197 


gan to watch for her in turn; and whatever became 
of the rest of his money, he had always enough to 
bring home some little gift for Nannie. Her soft 
touch upon his arm seemed to have more power 
than anything else to arouse him from his fits of 
moodiness, and twice, at least, some of his wild 
companions sought him in vain for some party of 
theirs because he had gone on a ramble with little 
Nan. 

“ ‘ A little child shall lead them/ ” murmured 
our grandmother, softly, when she had watched from 
her window these disappointed seekers turn away. 
The words were spoken almost unconsciously, but 
Agnes caught them. 

“ So many promises !” she said ; “ but will they 
ever be fulfilled for us, I wonder? Will our an- 
swer ever come ? It is so long.” 

Zack sat in the low doorway. He had come for 
Nannie, but not finding her had seated himself 
contentedly to await her return. He overheard 
Agnes’ last sentences, though I think he scarcely 
knew of what she was speaking, but he looked up: 

“There’s a command ’bout resting in the Lord 
and waiting patiently for him. I s’pose folks 
might get a deal of comfort out of doin’ it, an’ have 
a peaceable time too, if they wasn’t in such a hurry, 
and lacking faith besides.” 

“ But when one is in desperate earnest, it seems 
almost impossible to wait patiently for what is 
sorely needed and may be missed at last,” re- 


198 


WE THREE. 


marked Phil, his face shadowed by Agnes’ look of 
sadness. 

“Yes, that’s it; it’s the misdoubting the word 
won’t be kept that makes it so impossible to wait 
in patience,” replied Zack. “ You see, you’ve 
promised me my wages every Saturday night. 
Now, I need my money; and if I was afeard I 
wouldn’t get it, I might hang round every day 
beggin’ you to be sure and keep your word and not 
forgit, but ’t would seem kind of insultin’, wouldn’t 
it? And it strikes me kind of queer sometimes, 
if we don’t think His word’s as good as a respect- 
able human being’s, that we doubt and fret and 
beg and worry so, instid of waiting quiet and hope- 
ful for his time to come.” 

Grandmother turned her calm eyes from the 
sunset. Pained and saddened she often was, but 
her face never wore the hurried, anxious, fearful 
look that poor Rob’s moods and sins brought to his 
sister’s. She smiled now, as if old Zack’s words 
answered some thought of her own. 

“We know that if we ask anything according to 
his will he heareth us,” said Agnes, the pain and 
uncertainty still lingering in her voice. 

“ And it is not his will that any should perish,” 
added our grandmother. “ Put the two together, 
dear, and they make strong ground for trust and 
peace.” 

The tired, troubled face softened and brightened 
then, and for the time she was comforted ; and when, 


WE THREE. 


199 


a little later, Rob and Nannie came up the walk, 
she greeted them brightly. She took the wild 
flowers they had gathered, and while she arranged 
them told Rob — a little reluctantly, I fancied — of 
his callers. His brow clouded for an instant, then 
he laughed : 

“ Let them go ; we don’t care. We had more fun 
hunting for wild flowers in the wood than they’ll 
have in all their parties, didn’t we, Midge?” 

The child nodded with a look of quiet happi- 
ness, and he persuaded her and Uncle Zack to stay 
to tea. Afterward, on the moonlit porch, I heard 
him coaxing little Nan to sing. A sweet, quaint, 
untrained voice the child had, and her music was 
but a goodly quantity of fragments of old hymns. 
Presently, in answer to the continued request, she 
sang a chorus : 

“ Oh the Lamb ! the loving Lamb ! 

The Lamb of Calvary ! 

The Lamb who was slain, and lives again, 

And intercedes for me !” 

She paused, then gave a bit of Sunday-school song, 
a new acquisition : 

“ I know I’m but a little child, 

My strength will not protect me ; 

But then I am the Saviour’s lamb, 

And he will not neglect me. 

Chorus. — “I’m climbing up Zion’s hill, 

Climbing, climbing, 

Climbing up Zion’s hill !” 


200 


WE THREE. 


“ That’s pretty ! Mr. Rob, do you guess what it 
means ’bout climbing up?” 

“Yes” 

“ What does it ?” 

“ Why — Climbing up Zion’s hill, you mean ? 
Well, it’s trying to be good, you know, and get to 
heaven. Uphill work enough it is, too, that’s a 
fact.” 

“But folks don’t go to heaven ’cause they’re 
good, ’relse nobody’d ever get there,” pursued 
Nannie, thoughtfully. “ Jesus takes ’em.” 

“ What’s the use of being good, then ?” ques- 
tioned Rob, half forgetting the child, for he added 
quickly, “ I don’t mean that, though, Nannie ; of 
course we ought to try to be good.” 

“Yes, to try an’ please Jesus, you know, ’cause 
we’re his,” answered the little one, simply. 

But Rob said no more, neither did he ask her to 
sing again ; and soon, with one of her sober good- 
nights, she took her grandfather’s hand and started 
homeward. 

“ Dear, solemn, little creature !” said Agnes, 
watching until they were out of sight. 

Rob made no answer. He took up his lamp 
without a word, and sought his own room; and 
the next morning he was off before any of us had 
a chance to see or speak with him. 

It is wonderful that people — kind-hearted, well- 
meaning people — cannot learn the sublime wisdom 
of letting some things alone — that they can dis- 


WE THREE. 


201 


cover no break or flaw in the universe without 
fancying that they might mend it if they could 
but reach it with their own precious little brush 
and bottle of glue. The next evening Mrs. Stet- 
son came in, seeming flurried and embarrassed, and 
withal very anxious to appear natural and at ease. 
She remarked : 

“ It is a bright rain we’ve had — that is, a wet 
sunshine. Dear me ! how things do mix me — that 
is — now, well, ah !” 

Then she praised Agnes’ flowers, and evidently 
did not hear a word that was said in reply, in- 
quired after grandmother’s rheumatism, and start- 
led her by suggesting that she should “ dig it up 
and plant it somewhere else; that is — well — yes; 
it might grow better.” 

Then she discovered her wandering, flushed and 
laughed uneasily, fanned herself, and threw her 
broken sentences about wildly, until it became per- 
fectly apparent that she had some burden upon her 
mind, and an awkward silence fell over the group. 
Then she plunged into the real object of her visit: 

“ Where is — that is — I don’t see Robert.” 

“No; his train went out this morning,” Agnes 
answered, briefly, a little coldly, suspecting some- 
thing unpleasant to come. 

“ And how is he — that is — is he getting along — 
well? I used to like Robert.” 

“ He is well, and likes his position very much, 
thank you.” Then Agnes made an effort to evade 


202 


WE THREE. 


the attack and change the subject : “ We haven’t 
seen much of Mr. Stetson this summer; is he 
well ?” 

It was of no use. The little woman grew only 
more hurried and incoherent, but none the less 
determined : 

“He — no, no, my dear! I wanted to speak 
about Robert. We’ve thought — that is, husband 
said — and I thought so too — and husband — not 
meaning any offence, and we old neighbors — and 
your poor dear uncle, too, as a body may say. It 
is very — now, very — ” 

She paused and glanced appealingly around the 
circle, but nobody volunteered any assistance in her 
remarks, and she valiantly proceeded alone: 

“Husband don’t like the looks of ’em — the men 
he’s with, you see — he don’t really. And some 
things looks — well, you know ; and folks will talk! 
And husband says if ’twas our boy — and I do, too; 
I can’t help it. Young men will be wild, too, and, 
says I, the Howlands is one of our best families, 
if I do say it myself — very ! Him an orphan, be- 
sides, and no parents, either — and I always liked 
Robert—” 

“ What is it, Mrs. Stetson ?” interposed Agnes, 
growing desperate. “Anything that has been done 
to injure you or others? Anything new that you 
think we ought to know?” 

Poor Agnes! the truth at which Mrs. Stetson 
was blindly hinting seemed so fearfully old to her. 


WE THREE. 


203 


“ No, nothing in particular ; but in a general 
way, you know — a general way. It really is wrong, 
Agnes, ray dear, or I wouldn’t say a word — and no 
more would husband. But we thought it was, yes 
— a duty, as you may say. And you mustn’t feel 
hard. We both thought — that is, husband and me — 
and husband — that if he should have a little talk 
with Robert, and set it out — and the morals, and 
everything, it might — ” 

But Philip, smothering a little indignation on 
his own account, and more because of Agnes’ pale 
face, interrupted decidedly : 

“ Do not think of such a thing, Mrs. Stetson. 
It would do harm and no good. If Rob is, as 
you say, wild” — he paused a little at the word, 
but he could not contradict it nor use a milder 
one — “ his own family have more influence with 
him than any one else can have. He is quick and 
proud, and would only be wounded and offended. 
We do not doubt your kindness, but it would be 
far better that you should say nothing to him. We 
will wait and trust that he may grow more sensible 
as he grows older.” 

The attempt to speak the last words lightly was 
a failure. The pain and disgrace were growing 
very hard to bear. Mrs. Stetson looked disap- 
pointed. She was really sorry for the skeleton in 
a neighbor’s family, but she thought she had dis- 
covered a mission for herself. 

“Well, if you think so — though I’m sure I 


204 


WE THREE. 


don’t know. Don’t seem as if — and it wouldn’t, 
either, to any right-minded young man ; but then 
Robert — well ! Every one has their own ways, 
and I thought if husband should talk to him — he 
really has a gift that way, talking affecting — and a 
word or two put in from me, like a mother-like. 
But of course, if you don’t think so — of course ! 
Is there much sickness in town now, Dr. Win- 
ford?” 

Such a relief that question was ! I searched my 
memory for chills and fevers, lingered over coughs 
and neuralgias, and finally took the whole tribe of 
little Joneses through the measles one at a time, 
that Agnes might have a chance to rally and re- 
cover her composure. When my medical and 
prosy budget was exhausted, she had succeeded so 
far as to be able to introduce faintly the new 
church-organ ; but conversation was stiff and con- 
strained, and Mrs. Stetson presently departed with 
a mildly-injured air. I suspect she settled her 
head on her pillow that night with a quiet con- 
science, and never guessed that she had given an 
innocent heart a tolerably fair idea of what the 
torture-chamber of the old Inquisition was like. 

After all, that “ gift ” of Mr. Stetson’s could not 
rest quietly in the shade ; it must needs be displayed. 
So after a few days they planned a letter, advising, 
rebuking, moralizing and generally exasperating, 
and with the best intentions and worst judgment 
possible despatched it to our poor Rob. 


WE THREE . 


205 


The result was a fiery letter home, sent in his 
first burst of anger, and of course bitter, reckless 
and wholly unjust. " Could we not be satisfied with 
our own long lectures and dismal prophecies, with- 
out stirring up the whole neighborhood to write 
him letters full of hints, insults and stupid preach- 
ing ?” he asked. “Of course no one would know 
anything about him unless we told it.” (Poor 
Pob ! As if the village were a community of os- 
triches, with their eyes buried in sand for his ben- 
efit !) “ And if it had come to such a pass that we 

went about the place bewailing his sins and our 
misfortune in owning such a scapegrace brother, 
he could easily relieve us of the affliction.” 

It would have been worse than useless for Phil 
or myself to have attempted an answer, but Agnes 
sat up half the night to write to him, and even 
then it was three weeks before he came to his 
home again. To Quinton he must have come, but 
not to us. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


t LONG August afternoon with that peculiar 
hush of breathless waiting that belongs to 
midsummer had burned itself away, and a 
still, moonless night had come in its place. 
Agnes sat on the piazza, her hands dropped 
idly in her lap, her head resting against a pillar, 
dreamily watching the starry sky and listening to 
the low, monotonous chant of insect voices about 
her. Above this chorus rose now and then the 
faint, far-off call of some boatman on the river, 
and once or twice came the lonely cry of a 'whip- 
poor-will. Agnes started when that sound was 
repeated : 

“Do you hear it, Win? I haven’t heard one 
before for years — not since I was a little girl and 
Uncle Mark and all of us used to sit here together 
in the long twilights. Do you remember the stories 
he told us, and how we begged for more and more 
— we older ones — while Robbie fell asleep in Uncle 
Mark’s arms? It all comes back so plainly to- 
night that it almost seems the years between then 
and now might have been but a dream.” 

Did she wish they were ? I wondered. Would it 
206 


WE THREE. 


207 


pay to go backward if we might? Her thoughts 
had reached the same question, for presently she 
murmured these few lines from Mrs. Browning: 

“ It something saith for earthly pain, 

But more for heavenly promise free, 

That I, who was, would shrink to be 
That happy child again.” 

Phil's step upon the walk recalled the present — 
Phil, though it scarcely sounded like his quick, firm 
footfall ; and as he drew nearer, so that the light 
gleaming through the open door fell upon his face, 
I was startled by his pallor. 

“ What's the matter, Phil? Are you sick or 
hurt?" I questioned, hurriedly. 

Before he could answer other steps paused at 
the gate, and a boy's voice called, excitedly, 

“ Heard about the accident? There's been an 
awful smash-up on the railroad about two miles 
above here." 

Agnes, white and trembling, was at the gate in 
an instant, and we followed her, catching but a 
part of the next sentence : 

“ Collision, and train thrown clean off the track, 
and lots of folks hurt and killed — " 

“What train? what train?" interposed Agnes, 
sharply, yet as if she needed no answer. 

“Yes'm, 'twas his — Mr. Robert's. Polks say 
'twas his fault too ; only I guess they don't know 
and just talked 'cause they wanted to," he added, 


208 


WE THREE. 


hastily, some instinct of humanity warning him 
that he might be saying too much in his anxiety to 
tell the news. Then he suddenly turned and ran 
away up the street, and Agnes leaned back heavily 
against my arm with a low moan : 

“ It has come ! it has come !” 

“ That is it, Win,” said Phil, hoarsely. “ I did 
not mean that she should hear it just in that way, 
but God only knows whether there is any brighter 
side to the story. I fear it is the bitter, awful 
truth. Take care of her; I must be off.” 

He was gone in a moment, and I obeyed him 
mechanically, half leading, half carrying my sister 
to the house. She had not lost consciousness; I 
almost wished it had been so, such agony was in 
the eyes she lifted to mine. 

“ Go, Win ; they will need you. Never mind 
me, only go. No, do not call grandmother,” as if 
she read my half-formed thought. “If she has 
heard nothing, do not tell her now. She may not 
come down again until morning, and one more 
peaceful night for her is something. I am not 
afraid ; there is nothing left to fear. Oh, Win, go ! 
don’t wait !” 

Even while she spoke a voice outside had called, 
“Doctor!” — an impatient passing voice. I knew 
that they would come for me — that I must go ; and 
I left her there alone and hurried away. I avoided 
the one who had called me, and every passer-by 
as far as possible until I reached the ddp6t. A 


WE THREE.' 


209 


train was just starting for the scene of disaster — a 
crowded train ; but no one spoke to me as I took 
my place on board, and two or three groups of 
earnest talkers lowered their voices as I drew near ; 
only I caught two words, “ His brother.” 

“ His brother ! his brother !” They kept ringing 
on in my head in a meaningless sort of way all the 
time I rode, and the rumble and roar pf the mov- 
ing train seemed steadily repeating them, until, 
with a shock and jar, it stood still, and the crowd 
began to get off. 

Torches and lanterns were flashing here and 
there, carried by eager hands, and the head-light 
of the engine threw a gleam as from a great fiery 
eye far up the track, showing where a dark wrecked 
mass was lying. Dr. Graylie met me as I stepped 
upon the ground, and caught my hand in a quick 
grasp. 

“You here, Win? That’s right; there is work 
enough. Don’t believe all you hear, my boy,” he 
added, kindly, but the usually decided voice hes- 
itated a little over the words, and then he hastened 
on and left me. 

There was work enough — fearful work ! A lit- 
tle apart, reverently covered and guarded, lay a 
few still, rigid forms, crushed and mutilated, but 
needing no help. Others, battered, wounded, bleed- 
ing, were writhing and groaning in pain, and I 
moved among them, administering restoratives and 
binding up wounds, working rapidly and with all 
14 


210 


WE THREE. 


the skill I possessed, yet with a strange automaton- 
like feeling and a vague questioning whether any 
there bore so deadly a hurt as mine. 

I did not search for Rob : Phil would do that. 
He might be — alas ! was it a fear or hope ? — among 
the dead. It almost seemed the only refuge left 
for him, and yet — No, no! He could not have 
gone out of the world to the bar of God with that 
fearful burden of guilt and blood upon his soul — 
our Rob ! 

Another train came slowly down, bringing assist- 
ance from Chester — groups of strangers who stood 
near me and discussed the whole event with tortur- 
ing minuteness, and heaped deep and bitter curses 
upon the head of that “ drunken engineer.” Only 
the engineer ! They did not know him as Rob or 
brother or anybody’s beloved. Their fierce indig- 
nation was natural enough in presence of that 
awful waste of precious human life; but while 
their denunciations rang in my ears, my thought 
went back, strangely enough, to that picture Agnes 
had drawn of him that very evening — little Rob 
asleep in Uncle Mark’s arms. 

“ All the engineer’s fault,” said a nasal voice, 
positively. “ I’ve inquired round till I’ve got 
pretty much the straight facts of the case. You 
see, if the night-express from Lexington is the least 
bit behind time, this fellow’s train has to wait just 
beyond Chester till it passes. He knows by the 
signal, you understand. Well, to-night the express 


WE THREE. 


211 


hadn’t gone up, and the other train came dashing 
down and never waited for the ‘all-right’ signal, nor 
anything — the station-master swears he didn’t give 
it — but just thundered right on through. Of course 
there was a collision, and it is generally supposed 
the engineer must have been so drunk that he 
didn’t know what he was about when he got to 
Chester. There doesn’t seem to be any other ex- 
planation.” 

“ Well, I suppose they can’t hang the wretch,” 
answered another voice, regretfully. “It isn’t 
likely he really meant murder; but I expect they 
can make a case of it that will shut him so tightly 
between stone walls that he won’t get out to do 
any more mischief.” 

“ Wish he had been there before he ever had a 
chance to do this,” groaned the man whose crushed 
foot I was dressing. “ It’s outrageous that such a 
worthless drunkard should be trusted with lives a 
hundred-fold better than his own.” 

By and by a hand touched my shoulder, and 
Uncle Zack stood by my side : 

“ Where is he — Mr. Bobert ?” 

I glanced about me quickly, forgetting for an 
instant that this angry, denouncing group did not 
know him by that name ; then I answered : 

“ I do not know.” 

“ Well, well ! I supposed not. One does, though 
— the lovingest, pitifulest One of all. He’s in his 
keeping somewheres; that’s one comfort.” 


212 


WE THREE. 


It was the first gleam of comfort that hail come 
to me all that dreary night, and it lingered when 
old Zack passed on. Again and again, amid cold 
comments and fierce condemnations, came the sus- 
taining thought, “ He is in other hands than theirs 
— infinitely more just, it is true, but more tender 
and compassionate also.” 

And so the long night wore away with its strange 
mingling of groans and curses, loud complaints and 
silent endurance, kindly deeds and cold selfishness, 
work and suffering. As the gray dawn was break- 
ing the painful toil ended ; the dead had been re- 
moved and the last of the wounded placed care- 
fully upon the train that wound slowly toward 
Chester. There only remained the workmen who 
were busily removing the wrecked cars from the 
track. I remembered Agnes, left alone through 
those wretched hours that would seem ages, and 
hastened homeward. 

But she had not been alone — not long alone, 
though the time had seemed interminable in which 
she paced to and fro, her brain half wild with har- 
rowing visions and torturing possibilities. The 
streets had grown quiet and deserted and the still- 
ness almost intolerable, when some one came to the 
door. In frantic eagerness for tidings, she flew to 
open it, and admitted Bob, so white, worn and 
haggard that she scarcely recognized him as he 
passed her without a word and threw himself into 
a chair in the room beyond. 


WE THREE. 


213 


So utterly wretched he looked that horror and 
pain were drowned in a great tide of loving pity 
and longing to save him from his sin and its suffer- 
ing. She sprang to his side and clasped her arms 
about him : 

“ Oh, Rob, my darling, my darling !” 

He looked up at her with strange, wild eyes, but 
with an unnatural calm of voice and manner, as 
of one stunned into quietness : 

“ Poor Agnes ! It is hard for you, poor Agnes !” 

“ But it is not true ? Oh, Rob, tell me that it is 
not true !” 

“ The accident ?” He scarcely seemed to compre- 
hend. “ There was one — a fearful one ; and they 
are crushed and dead and dying, lying there un- 
der the wreck,” a slight shudder shaking him then. 

“ But you did not — It was no fault of yours ? 
Surely it was not?” she pleaded. 

He drew his hand across his forehead, as if trying 
to brush some mist from his brain : 

“ They say it was ; I heard them. I did drink 
some before I started, and I was sleeping once, and 
dizzy ; but I knew when we reached Chester, and 
I thought I saw the ‘ all-right ’ signal. I do not 
know ; it may have been as they say. Agnes, I do 
not know !” 

“ Oh, I cannot bear it !” and the sister’s head 
bowed low in a sudden burst of agony. But in a 
moment she raised it again, controlling herself for 
liis sake whose hot, tearless eyes were washing her. 


214 


WE THREE . 


“You came home alone, Rob?” with a quick 
glance at doors and windows. 

“Yes. I was thrown off. I don’t know how 
long I lay there, but I wasn’t hurt. Nothing could 
kill me, you see. I couldn’t stay there and hear it 
all, and I came away.” 

“ You didn’t see Phil or Win ?” 

“ No. I don’t want to. Dear old Win ! And 
Phil ! He always said how it would turn out, and 
Phil generally knows ; only I wouldn’t believe 
him. They wouldn’t want to see me. Pd better 
go.” 

He started up, and was moving uncertainly to- 
ward the door; but Agnes stopped him : 

“ Oh, Rob — dear Rob ! No ! you are our own, 
our very own, whatever happens or has happened. 
Don’t you see ?” 

“ Poor Aggie ! I had better go,” he repeated. 

“ But where ? Rob, somebody may be looking 
for you.” Agnes hesitated. Would they — could 
they — do anything with you for this ?” 

“ Anything? Arrest me, imprison me, you mean ? 
I hadn’t thought of it ; it may be,” replied Rob, 
confusedly. “If my life could bring back those 
others, or any one of them, I’d help them take 
it fast enough. But it couldn’t; it wouldn’t do any 
good, Agnes,” he answered, drearily, as if the fact 
of the uselessness of such a sacrifice would satisfy 
the law. “ It makes no difference what place I am 
in ; it is all the same. Sometimes I almost think I 


WE THREE. 


215 


am dead and this is that awful world beyond, you 
know.” 

“ Oh, Rob, don’t !” implored the girl, trembling 
before those dry, wild eyes. “ I love you — love you ! 
And you live because God loves you and will not 
let you go beyond his mercy. It makes all the dif- 
ference to me where you are and what is done. 
You are tired and almost wild now; go and lie 
down until Phil and Win come; they will know 
what is best to do.” 

Her persistent pleading conquered at last, and 
she drew him away to his own room and made 
him lie down, but he detained her for a moment 
when she would have turned away, and said, with 
that same despairing calmness, 

“It can’t touch you, Agnes — any of you — the 
blame or disgrace. Every one will understand. 
I was the black sheep always, but I did not think 
it would come to this — murder and those cold dead 
faces.” 

“ But you did not mean it ; you did not know, 
my poor Rob!” moaned Agnes, breaking at last 
into a sudden passion of tears that brought a bless- 
ed relief to her. But no such softening touched 
the settled horror of Rob’s white face. His hand 
rested on her head as she knelt sobbing by his side, 
but his eyes were tearless. 

“ If he could but sleep !” she whispered to her- 
self, stealing again and again to his door to listen 
as the long hours wore on, but feeling the hope- 


216 


WE THREE. 


lessness of the wish even though he seemed to lie 
so still and the room was quiet. 

Phil and I reached home together in the chill 
dawn, and Agnes met us at the door with her 
tidings : 

“ Rob has come home.” 

“ What does he say ? He is himself?” asked 
Phil, hurriedly, looking another question still that 
he could not put into words. 

She shook her head and answered the look : 

“ He cannot tell ; he does not know how it was.” 

The glimmer of hope died with those words. I 
only learned that I cherished it by the added dark- 
ness when it was gone. 

There was a bitter silence. Phil looked up first 
and asked where Rob was, and Agnes told very 
briefly all there was to tell. But when Philip started 
as if he would have gone to him, she laid her hand 
upon his arm and turned her pale face to his with 
a questioning, pleading gaze : 

“He is our brother, Philip. God made him 
ours and nothing can undo the bond. He is our 
very own through all sorrow, sin and shame even 
— to help if we can, to suffer with him since we 
must ; but one with us, whatever happens.” 

Her words hurt Philip — all the more that back 
in the past lay a reason for them. His lips trem- 
bled for the first time in all that fearful night, but 
he answered, very gently, 

“ God forbid that I should wish it otherwise ! 


WE THREE. 


217 


If I remembered nothing else, do you think I could 
forget that night on the river and what life was 
periled for mine?” 

She made no reply other than the withdrawing 
of her hand and the quick raising of her lips to 
his ; but when he had gone,' she turned to me : 

“ Win, I used to say — I have said it often — ‘ Let 
anything come — anything — to end the miserable, 
steadily-growing alienation between those two and 
bind us all together again/ And now — ” she shud- 
dered. “In what a strange, awful light an an- 
swered prayer can stand !” 

“ ‘ If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is 
a father, will he give him a stone ?’ ” I asked, my 
own heavy heart groping in the darkness for its 
olden faith. 

“No; surely no father could — that Father least 
of all. He would not. The good must be in it 
somewhere, however it looks now.” And again 
the tears came to her eyes, but they were softer, 
less bitter ones. 

I turned to join Phil then and speak with our 
poor Rob ; but Philip met me on the stairs: 

“ He is not there, Win.” 

“Not there?” I repeated, vacantly enough. 

“ Not in his room.” 

I passed him and ran up the stairs. Rob’s door 
was a little ajar, as Phil had left it ; I pushed it 
open and entered. The bed was slightly dis- 
ordered, as if some one had been lying upon it, 


218 


WE THREE : 


but there was no other trace of the room’s occu- 
pant. 

“ He must have slipped down stairs very quietly/’ 
said Agnes, who had followed me. “ I did not 
hear him. What does it mean? Where can he 
have gone ?” 

“ He may have been too excited and restless to 
lie still, Agnes. Perhaps he will come back pres- 
ently,” Phil answered, but his face wore a look of 
new trouble. 

“ I do not know ; I fear I do not know what. 
His manner was so strangely calm last night, and 
yet with a sort of wildness under it, too. If he 
should do anything — to himself — ” She broke off 
shudderingly. 

“ He will not. That is a coward’s act, and Rob 
is at least no coward,” I said, decidedly. 

“Not when he is himself, but — ” and again 
Agnes shivered and left her sentence unfinished. 

Not himself! That well might be with all the 
strain and agony, the remorse and horror. 

“ I will look for him,” I answered, trying to 
speak quietly and keep any new fear out of my 
voice. 

Phil followed me, and we went out once more in 
the chill gray dawn. Up and down the deserted 
streets we walked, then away to the edge of the 
village where old Zack’s cabin stood, closed and 
still, and at last down to the lonely river-bank, 
where the fog hung heavily and the water swept 


WE THREE. 


219 


by in a dreary, desolate way. Anxiously we scanned 
through the veiling mist every log and stone along 
the shore, and breathed more freely when a nearer 
approach revealed outlines more distinctly. 

By and by the sun came up, scattering the fog 
and breaking through the clouds with a glad burst 
of light — sunshine so bright and clear that it 
almost seemed the events of the night must have 
been some horrible dream that would vanish with 
the day. But that faint illusion faded under 
Agnes’ look when we went back alone. 

“ It is possible that he may have gone out to the 
scene of the accident,” Phil said. “ We will look 
for him there.” 

Then our grandmother came down, her beauti- 
ful old face — it always looked so to me — peacefully 
sweet as was its wont, knowing nothing of all that 
the dark hours had wrought. Can there be a 
harder task, in all this oftentimes hard life of ours, 
than bearing tidings that must dim the light in eyes 
dear to us and crush hearts that our own would 
break to save ? — to reiterate the woeful tale when 
wild glances plead for denial ; to bar every avenue 
of escape with the cruel truth, and watch the black 
shadow of sorrow settle down hopelessly ? 

Little by little, by one and another, this story 
was told in all its slow, bitter length, ending in the 
last drear uncertainty, and then the brave hands 
which had wrought so nobly through all the years 
dropped tremblingly, and the dear, dim old eyes 


220 


WE THREE. 


turned away from us all to the eastern sky — heaven- 
ward, whatever befell. 

There was a timid knock at the door, and little 
Nannie entered in her usual grave, quiet way, but 
with a wondering, questioning look in her eyes as 
they swept our group. 

“ I’ve brought you a letter,” she said to Agnes — 
“ a letter that Mr. Rob said I was to give to you 
in the morning ; so I came real early.” 

Agnes caught the note eagerly, a torn half sheet 
covered with hasty penciling. 

“Dear Agnes,” it said, “I am going away, I 
don’t know where. I thought it over as well as I 
could while I was lying there at home, and it is 
better that I should go. I wouldn’t run away for 
myself — it doesn’t matter to me now what comes — 
but I’ve been thinking that any trial or imprison- 
ment might make it harder for you all. I’ll be 
forgotten sooner if I’m well out of the way, no- 
body knows where ; and the disgrace can’t touch 
any of you, surely ; everybody knows you so well. 
The others are doing nobly too — Phil and Win — 
and I am — -just what they said I would be. It 
will be batter for them if I am never heard of 
again. Agnes, dear Agnes, I wish I could feel 
that you will not break your heart for me. Don’t, 
darling ; I am not worth it. Good-bye. God bless 
you all — only I am not fit to breathe a prayer for 
anybody. Rob.” 

“ Oh, my Rob ! my darling !” cried Agnes, drop- 


WE THREE. 


221 


ping the paper. “ I cannot have it so ! That he 
should go off alone, homeless, friendless and des- 
olate, in his great trouble ! ” 

“He will not,” Phil said, slowly. “We shall 
find him — after a time.” 

Then he drew the little girl forward and ques- 
tioned her : 

“ Where did you see Mr. Rob, Nannie? and 
when did he give you the note?” 

“Tell us all about it — every word that you can 
remember,” urged Agnes, eagerly. 

“ Well,” said Nannie, speaking deliberately, as 
if striving to recall every detail, “gramfer asked 
me was I ’fraid to stay alone while he went to look 
at some broken cars ; and I said no, and then he 
went away. I watched the stars a good while and 
heard the crickets sing, till by and by I was tired 
and lay down. I guess I slept — oh, ever so long, 
but I don’t ’member; and then I went to the 
door to see if gramfer had come from the cars. 
I didn’t see him, but somebody said, ‘ Little Nan !’ 
and there was Mr. Rob. He was going right 
off, only I told him ’bout waiting for gramfer, and 
then he turned round and came in. He said had 
I any paper; and when I found him some, he 
wrote that letter with his pencil. He looked all 
white and lonesome, and his hand shook — shook 
like the house when the wind blows. Then he 
folded the paper up and leaned his head down on 
the table, and kept saying words to himself; I 


222 


WE THREE. 


didn’t know what. So I asked him, ‘You say- 
ing verses, Mr. Rob?’ ’cause I do that sometimes 
when I’m all alone. He didn’t hear me at first ; 
but when I asked him some more, he said, ‘Yes, 
yes ! but there’s only one word in it — sin !’ 

“ Then I guessed I knew what verse he meant, 
’cause I learned it Sunday, and I told him I knew 
the other words, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, his 
Son, cleanseth us from all sin.’ 

“ It was the right one, for he said, ‘ Say that 
again,’ and I did, and then he said it over and over, 
‘ Cleanseth us from all sin ! Cleanseth us from all 
sin !’ By and by he lifted up his head and told me 
to bring this letter to Miss Agnes in the morning, 
and then he kissed me real hard and quick and 
went away. That’s all. I’ve told it all,” said 
Nannie, with an air of grave satisfaction at having 
remembered. 

Agnes stooped and kissed the child — a quick, 
passionate kiss — and there was a moment’s silence, 
until the grandmother’s eyes, with something of the 
old peace coming back to them, turned again to the 
window, and her tremulous voice said, softly, 

“Not quite comfortless. He bore with him the 
King’s offer of pardon.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HE days, heavily freighted with care and 
pain, dragged slowly by — long days and 
weary nights. The papers were full of dis- 
torted accounts of the accident, headed by 
glaring capitals : “ Another Wholesale Mur- 
der!” “ Innocent Lives Sacrificed by a Drunken 
Engineer !” “ The Gallows Cheated Again ! Es- 
cape of the Guilty Wretch !” — reports that we 
vainly tried to keep from each other, that we re- 
solved not to read, but which possessed a dreadful 
fascination and drew the gaze irresistibly, coming 
as they did to our notice everywhere. 

There had been a coroner’s inquest, a hurried 
superficial inquiry, ending in a verdict that was but 
a repetition of that given by the excited and irre- 
sponsible public. There were vague threats of 
mobbing and fierce bursts of denunciation heard 
along the streets and from little groups knotted 
about the corners. 

“ Wild words wandering here and there, God’s 
great gift of speech abused ” — words that took no 
shape in deeds, that were safe enough since no one 
could resent them. Almost harder to bear than 


223 


224 


WE THREE. 


these were the pitying glances of friends, the care- 
ful avoidance of a name that we also might not 
speak, the delicate omission of all mention of the 
most absorbing topic of public interest. 

And still the days claimed from us the old out- 
ward routine of work and duty. People had rheum- 
atism and fevers just the same ; the iron-mills 
rolled on with their grinding and roar in the old 
fashion, and for Agnes there was still the more 
monotonous round of breakfasts, dinners and sup- 
pers. There were still the persistent, homely claims 
of daily life that we so rebel against in our hours 
of sorrow, which yet save many a burdened heart 
from breaking, many a tortured brain from going 
wild. 

We heard no tidings of our missing one. In- 
quiries cautiously and privately made, as they had 
need to be at first, brought us no information. 
And when, as the weeks went by and other crimes, 
horrors and calamities crowded this railroad disas- 
ter down from its eminence, labeled it “ Stale,” and 
drew the focus of public gaze elsewhere, thus leav- 
ing us at liberty to search more openly, we still 
gained no trace of Rob. 

After a time, the excitement having in a great 
measure died away, there was another investigation 
of the accident and its causes — a ponderous, delib- 
erate, careful sifting of the whole matter that 
dragged its slow length along with numerous wit- 
nesses and countless legal formalities. My very 


WE THREE. 


225 


heart fainted at thought of the lulling storm being 
raised again, and all the sickening details of that 
night of sin and suffering dragged forth from their 
brief burial. Again I resolved to shut myself 
from the knowledge of it, but uselessly as before. 
If I determinedly pushed the paper aside one 
night and refused to scan its columns, I seized it 
but the more eagerly on the ensuing evening, and 
searched through the often seemingly irrelevant 
testimony as if a sentence of life or death were 
hidden there. 

“Will it never, never end?” questioned Agnes, 
mournfully. “ When we saw the stone put up at 
Uncle Mark’s grave, I thought there could be no 
sadder reading of any dear name than to have it 
engraven so ; but this — what is any name on pure 
white marble, telling only that God has given his 
beloved peaceful sleep, to this?” 

I had been hastily summoned two or three miles 
into the country late one afternoon, and riding out 
in a farmer’s wagon had found myself under the 
necessity of walking home. It was evening by the 
time I reached the village, and I was walking up 
the street rather wearily, when a passing acquaint- 
ance paused and seized my hand cordially : 

“Ah, doctor! how are you this evening? ‘It’s 
a long lane that has no turning,’ isn’t it?” 

“ So they say,” I responded, somewhat wonder- 
ingly, not quite understanding the application of 
the old proverb to myself. 

15 


226 


WE THREE. 


“ Yes, yes ! I only wonder how you all kept so 
quiet. It was the wisest thing to do, of course; 
hut it does seem to me I should have boiled over. 
Well, good-bye and he hastened on down the 
street, leaving me not a little mystified as to his 
meaning. 

While I was still pondering that enigma, Mrs. 
Jones, the mother of that wonderful family who 
insisted upon marching in platoons through all the 
diseases know T n to childhood, called to me from an 
open window: 

“ Doctor ! Doctor Howland ! I want to speak to 
you a minute and having brought me to a halt, 
she proceeded without pausing for breath. “ How 
are all your folks ? Wasn’t it just a shame, though, 
the way folks treated that brother of yours? Just 
a shame! I declare, if I’ve said that once this 
afternoon, I believe I’ve said it a dozen times. 
Well, folks do seem possessed about some things, 
but it’s just a burning shame. Doctor, can’t you 
call round early in the morning? I’m a leetle sus- 
picious that Mirandy is being took down with the 
whooping-cough. I’d ask you in to see her now, 
but she ain’t home. Mebby it ain’t that, but then 
mebby it is ; and if one takes it they all take it — 
follow each other like a flock of sheep through a 
hole in the fence ; and I’d like to know what I’ve 
got to depend on.” 

What brother had been so cruelly treated ? Had 
any evil happened to Phil? I wondered. There 


WE THREE. 


227 


was Rob ; but even if lie had been found, Mrs. 
Jones would scarcely think any treatment too se- 
vere for him. I could not ask. I only promised 
the required visit, and quickened my homeward 
steps with a foreboding of new trouble. 

But there was no token of it about the quiet 
house. Agnes’ pale face and flitting smile of wel- 
come and the grandmother’s wistful gaze were sad 
enough, indeed, but it needed no fresh grief to ac- 
count for that ; and in a moment I saw Phil com- 
ing up the walk, sound and well, at least, and not 
with the look of one who brought ill tidings. 
Something quite the reverse his face said, as he 
entered and glanced quickly from one to another : 

“Have you heard, Win? Have you told them 
about it?” 

“Heard what? told what?” questioned Agnes, 
quickly, her voice sharp in its eagerness. 

“About Rob. He isn’t guilty; he has been 
cleared entirely;” and Phil’s voice choked and 
broke in a heavy sob that forced its way through 
all his manly calmness. 

The tense lines of Agnes’ white face relaxed, her 
eyes grew tender and humid, and with a long quiv- 
ering breath, as if an intolerable weight had rolled 
from her soul, her head drooped upon her hands 
in a quick burst of tears. The grandmother com- 
prehended more slowly, but at last a whispered 
thanksgiving quivered over her lips, only one sen- 
tence audible : 


228 


WE THREE. 


“ 1 He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves 
thereof are still/ ” 

It almost seemed she could have rested for ever 
upon that one simple assurance and have asked no 
further explanation. But Phil presently took up 
his story again : 

“ It all came out in the investigation this after- 
noon. The station-master did give the signal for 
the train to go on, as Bob thought. There were 
three men who had been out fishing, got in late, and 
walked across the country to the railroad near the 
station. They thought it almost time for the ex- 
press, and sat down by the road to wait until it 
should pass. And while they were there the signal 
was given to the other train. They noticed and 
remarked it particularly, because they understood 
by it that the express had already gone up. They 
all three swore to it most positively ; and the sta- 
tion-master — poor, miserable fellow ! — finally broke 
down completely under the testimony and con- 
fessed the truth.” 

“ What could have possessed him to do such a 
deed ?” I exclaimed. 

“ Liquor, I suppose,” said Phil, sadly. “He 
acknowledged that he had taken some — for a cold, 
he said — and that he had afterward fallen asleep. 
The sound of the coming train awoke him, and, 
confused and scarcely knowing what he was about, 
he rushed out and gave the signal. Afterward he 
could not remember whether the express had 


WE THREE. 


229 


passed, and he was in a state of terrible anxiety. 
Then, when word of the collision came, he knew 
what he had done ; but he determined to brave it 
through, deny giving the signal and let some one 
else bear the blame. He had almost succeeded, 
and might have kept his secret always but for 
those three men.” 

“ But for God’s watchful providence,” interposed 
the grandmother’s trembling voice. “ Poor guilty 
one ! I wonder has he mother, wife or child?” 

Then again a silence fell. Who can describe an 
hour like that, or analyze its varying emotions 
of joy and fear, thanksgiving and regret ? 

“ If Rob only knew ! — poor, tortured, wandering 
Rob !” sighed Agnes. 

Uncle Zack, coming in that evening, took a 
hopeful view of the matter : 

“ He’ll be sure to know. The papers’ll blaze it 
far an’ wide, an’ it’ll bring him home ’fore long,” 
he said. 

That appeared probable; and when the next 
morning’s sun rose brightly, it almost seemed as 
if our world could never know sorrow again, now 
that this dreadful shadow of guilt and grief had 
passed. Acquaintances came with kind words and 
congratulations, and it was wonderful how many 
had “ always thought it would turn out so.” 

The papers took up the story, as had been proph- 
esied, and again there were flaming capitals: 
“ The Innocent Suffering for the Guilty !” a A 


230 


WE THREE. 


Noble Young Engineer the Victim of a Foul Con- 
spiracy !” Exaggerated accounts they were, in 
which the one who had been so unsparingly de- 
nounced a few weeks before was now made to figure 
as a hero and a martyr. Surely not the hard- 
hearted, reckless villain they had first painted him, 
nor yet the model of all nobility and faithfulness 
that they now represented, was our poor Hob, for 
whose step we vainly watched and listened through 
all the coming and going steps of those days. 

The weeks passed on and on. At first Agnes 
opened his room to the sunlight every day and 
placed fresh flowers there. She started at every 
sound of the gate, at every opening of the door; 
and the grandmother, sitting at her pleasant win- 
dow, dropped the work into her lap countless times 
daily and gazed down the road with wistful eyes. 
Phil and I came home each evening hoping to find 
Rob there ; but by and by we ceased to put into 
w’ords the question of his coming, or to say to each 
other, as we had so often done, “ Surely he will be 
here to-morrow.” 

We began again the search, dropped for a little 
while when we thought the news would reach him 
and that he would of himself come home, and made 
inquiries in every direction, but without obtaining 
the faintest clue. We sent brief “ personals,” pa- 
thetic in their very simplicity, to the daily papers 
of the great cities : “ Rob, come home ; it’s safe 
now, and we all want you. Agnes.” But they 


WE THREE. 


231 


brought no answer. It seemed strange that he 
could so utterly have passed beyond our reach and 
knowledge. 

“ Missing l” I shall never read again that little 
word without a thought of the deep shadow it can 
fling over homes and lives — without a memory of 
those slow summer days, the turning away from a 
well-filled table with a choking thought of one 
who might be starving, the lying awake on stormy 
nights tortured with fancies of a wanderer home- 
less and unsheltered. Many a time, ministering at 
some sick-bed, there flashed before me a vision of 
Rob dying uncared for and alone. I thrilled with 
a deeper feeling than horror or pity over accounts 
of unknown suicides, and shuddered as I stood 
once by a pauper’s grave. 

“ I wonder/’ said Agnes, one day, “ how I could 
ever have thought mere poverty such a grief and 
burden when we were all together — pinching and 
contriving, to be sure, but working and hoping, too, 
and rich in each other. Those old times are so 
sweet to look back upon it seems strange I could 
ever have called them hard.” 

“ It was only when Peter had been lifted out of 
the water and was upheld by the Master’s strong 
and loving hand that he heard also the Master’s 
voice: ‘O thou of little faith! wherefore didst 
thou doubt ?’ ” said our grandmother. “ I think it 
is always so with us. Looking back over troubles 
safely passed, we see that we might have rested in 


232 


WE THREE. 


the Lord and waited patiently for him — have 
trusted instead of doubted, and so have been secure 
and happy where we were anxious and miserable. 
But we do not seem to carry the lesson on into any 
new trial.” 

Would it be so in some coming day, looking 
back to this ? Would there be only regret that we 
had not kept patience and faith ? It was hard to 
make it seem even possible, with the burden press- 
ing so heavily. 

The summer waned. The trees showed glimpses 
of scarlet and gold ; the garden had lost its glory 
of lilies and pansies, and was only gay witli dahlias 
and chrysanthemums, and even these drooped at last 
and grew wan and forlorn under the breath of the 
frost. Then chilling winds blew up from the river 
and dry leaves began to rustle along the walks and 
gather in the fence-corners. Agnes was scarcely 
willing to admit that winter was coming, and hesi- 
tated to close doors and windows, as if the doing so 
would shut out a hope. But when at last it could 
be no longer delayed, when cold and storm reigned 
without and a gleaming blaze was telling of home 
comfort as it brightened the old fireplace, she turned 
from the window murmuring softly to herself: 

“The winter brings rough weather, 

And into its chill and gloom 
We go, and we never come. 

But oh, my friends, we shall gather 
Together in heaven, our home.” 


WE THREE. 


233 


The mill was prospering finely under its new 
superintendent in those days ; business had never 
been better; all things went smoothly, and many a 
compliment and commendation had been bestowed 
by the gratified proprietors. But Phil’s eyes never 
brightened with the olden light. Steadily faithful, 
watchful and energetic he was, but the life seemed 
to have gone out of his work. Even while I felt 
so keenly the shadow that hung over us all, I won- 
dered that our brave, resolute Phil so yielded to it. 
Something of the kind I said to him one day when 
he sat silent and thoughtful, his eyes fixed upon 
the open pages of a book, but reading nothing 
there. He looked up sadly enough when I spoke : 

“You cannot understand. This is only a sor- 
row to you, Win — bitter and deep, it is true, but 
only a sorrow ; it is far more than that to me. I 
seem to hear in everything that question put by 
God so long ago, ‘ Where is thy brother ?’ ” 

“ That haunts us all — as a question,” I answered ; 
“ but it does not mean to us what it meant — ” 

“ It does to me,” Phil interrupted. “ It holds 
an accusation in it, and I almost feel sometimes 
as if I stood in that first brother’s place. If I had 
been kind to Eob always, if I had not been so 
harsh when our ways differed, if I had tried to 
persuade him instead of blaming him and condemn- 
ing his plans ! but I did not. I was more angry 
than grieved when he began to go wrong. I sneered 
more than I reasoned, and coldly prophesied evil 


234 


WE THREE. 


instead of trying to help. I was the oldest, and I 
ought to have been more patient and gentle. If I 
had been different, it might all have been different. 
* And if Rob never comes home again, that ‘ might 
have been ’ will haunt me my life through.” 

“ But, Phil, you meant no wrong,” I urged, long- 
ing to banish that torturing self-reproach ; but he 
interrupted me again : 

“ I did not know what I meant — only to have 
my own way and show my contempt for all fickle- 
ness and irresolution. I almost thought I could 
stand coldly off and let him take his own way. 
Pm trying it now, and I feel guilty for every sin 
and sorrow that has come or may come to him. 
Do you remember Agnes asking me once what I 
supposed Rob could think of that verse that speaks 
of Christ as ‘ our Elder Brother * ? I have often 
wondered since then how it would read to him, 
especially since he has been gone and that Elder 
Brother is the only friend that can be near him. 
Have I given him such an idea of the relationship 
that he would shrink from the very name?” 

“ Oh, Phil, no !” I interposed. “ Whatever 
mistakes you made, Rob knew your true heart un- 
der it all. He loved you. Think of that night 
on the river.” 

“I do think of it; but for that, I could almost 
bear the rest,” said Phil, his voice growing husky. 
“ When I found myself floating away that night — 
when I thought I was going away from you all for 


WE THREE. 


235 


ever — I could not bear to leave Rob as he was; 
and then suddenly all my treatment of him stood 
out in fearful light. Afterward, when I watched 
him straining every nerve and risking his life to 
save me, I could not but think how I had stood by 
while he was drifting away, body and soul, on a far 
darker river. I had thought myself a Christian 
before that night ; I cannot tell you what vows I 
made then ; but you see it was too late. I have 
had no chance to keep them.” 

“ Not to him — not yet ; but, Phil, we have not 
given up all hope. And in abstaining from all 
harsh judgments, ought it not to be of ourselves 
as well as of others ? You are morbid and unjust 
to yourself now.” 

Phil shook his head. 

“ That is not one of my faults,” he said. “ That 
last note of Rob’s told the story ; he spoke of my 
prophecies. But for the thought .of me, I do not 
believe he would have left his home that night.” 
There was a moment’s silence ; then he added, 
“Win, you do not remember our mother? I 
do, and the day she died. She kissed Rob — a baby 
then — and laid him in grandmother’s arms, saying, 
‘ My poor Robbie! May God make everybody 
kind to my motherless lamb !’ ” 

“ ‘ Nothing should make us mourn for ever but 
unforgiven sin,’” I said, at last, quoting from Sir 
Thomas More. “Phil, even if your wrong has 
been all that you say, it is not that.” 


236 


WE THREE. 


“No,” he answered, slowly; “and for ever is a 
long word. It will not be for ever, for I suppose 
heaven blots out these things, or it would not be 
heaven ; but this life cannot.” 

It was useless talking. I could not banish or 
lighten his gloom; I could but leave him to the 
Comforter. How we find more and more, as the 
years go on, the hopelessness of trying to straighten 
all these tangled threads, and learn to place them 
all in one strong, gentle, safe Hand ! 

I suppose there comes into most lives a need for 
doing sometimes what I was learning to do in those 
days — living each day as if that one day were all. 
Looking forward to months and years, the burden 
seemed too heavy to be borne, so it was taken 
up each morning marked “For one day only.” 
Backward glances to the vanished sunshine sad- 
dened, forward glances into the darkness discour- 
aged ; but surely the grief could be borne just for 
one day, the hard duties faithfully performed this 
single day. Childishly trying to cheat one’s self, 
do you call it? Not at all. A wiser than any of 
earth has said, “The morrow shall take thought 
for the things of itself,” and “ As thy day is, so 
shall thy strength be.” We are nowhere taught to 
expect more than daily bread and daily strength. 
And then there is always this thought : The Master 
may come at evening. 

Old Zack noticed the deepening shadow on Phil’s 
face. I saw that he did by the long, keen gaze 


WE THREE. 


237 


with which he often followed him. But he made 
no remarks upon it ; he only seemed more intent 
than usual in interesting him in various persons 
connected with the mill — a carrying out of his 
favorite plan of “curin’ one’s own worriments by 
helpin’ other folks with theirs.” 


CHAPTER XY. 


HE trees tossed their empty arms helplessly 
in the chill wind and leafless vines rattled 
drearily against windows and piazza. Then 
cold gray clouds crept over the sky, shutting 
out the sunlight, and snow began to fall — 
the first snow of the season. The children, on 
their way from school, were half wild with delight 
at the soft thickly-falling flakes. They held out 
their hands to catch them and lifted up their faces 
to the gentle pelting with merry shouts of laughter. 
The snow meant winter and sled and skates; it 
meant Christmas ; and what Arabian-night splen- 
dors did not that word comprise? Nearer still, it 
meant Thanksgiving — a grand dinner and a grand 
marshaling of the clan; aunts and turkeys, nuts 
and cousins, in wonderful profusion. The little 
feet fairly danced on their homeward route that 
night. 

Thanksgiving was drawing near now ; but though 
we all remembered it, we instinctively avoided 
mentioning it. I wished — it was cowardly, but 
I did wish it, watching the merry children that 
night — that the day could slip by unthought of, 
unnoticed, by any of us. 

238 



WE THREE. 


239 


Uncle Zack came in that evening, and accepting 
a seat by our fire sat a long time in unusual silence, 
the keen eyes under the gray, shaggy brows seem- 
ingly divided between watching the glowing coals 
and watching Phil. At last he looked up suddenly : 

“Cap’n, I’ve been a thinking could you spare 
me to go away ?” 

“ I shouldn’t like to, Uncle Zack. You’re not 
getting dissatisfied, are you ?” said Phil, in some 
surprise. 

“No, oh no! ’tain’t that. I only meant for a 
spell, you see. It’s a kind of a business matter.” 

“Oh! that is it? Well, we can manage it, I 
suppose,” Phil answered, a little absently. “ How 
long will you be gone ?” 

“ Well, now, that’s just the partic’lar p’int I can’t 
tell,” said Zack, staring meditatively at the coals 
again. “It might be longer, and then again it 
might be shorter.” 

“ A difficult and complicated business matter, 
then?” I suggested. 

“ Well, you see, it’s ’bout something that belongs 
to a friend of mine — a kind of property of his, like, 
what’s got out of his hands. I think I know some 
of the cranks and turns of sich things better’n he 
does, an’ I’d like to help ’mazingly if I could. 
I’ll want to stay till I see whether I can do it or 
whether I can’t.” 

“That’s like you, Uncle Zack,” said Phil, faintly 
smiling, yet with an affectionate glance at his old 


240 


WE THREE. 


friend. “ Who else, do you suppose, would go off 
on such an errand ?” 

“ One a heap greater’n I be,” answered the old 
man, simply. “He came to seek and to save that 
which was lost.” 

Those words seemed scarcely relevant — scarcely 
reverent — in connection with so trifling a thing as 
an ordinary piece of property. But there was 
neither lightness nor irreverence in the thoughtful, 
deeply-lined face that was turned toward the blazing 
fire. 

“ Would you mind having little Nan stay here 
the time I’m gone?” he asked, presently. 

“No; Fd be glad to have her. Let her come,” 
Agnes answered, quickly. 

“ I sha’n’t be a mite uneasy ’bout her, then,” he 
added, looking pleased at the ready assent. “You 
see I hain’t wandered round much since I’ve had 
little Nan. I used to do a deal of it before. Well, 
then, if all’s ’greeable, I guess I’ll start to-morrer 
tol’able early. I don’t believe in putting off things. 
‘ A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’ says 
I, even if ’tis a day instid of a bird.” 

“You’ll bring Nannie in the morning?” ques- 
tioned Agnes. 

“ Yes’m.” His eyes wandered to Phil again. I 
think that excepting his little granddaughter, Nan, 
he loved him better than any one else on earth. 
“ Well, cap’n, s’pose I sha’n’t see you again till I 
get back. Maybe you’d better just shake hands 


WE THREE. 


241 


and wish me ‘ godspeed/ you know, ’cause folks’ 
good wishes don't hinder no man.” 

“ Surely I will do that, Uncle Zack,” said Phil, 
heartily. 

“We all do,” added Agnes. 

He glanced at her, then at each one of the group 
once more, hesitated an instant as if there were 
something he wished to say, then resolutely closed 
his lips again and turned away. 

Nannie came to us the next morning. Her 
grandfather had brought her and the basket that 
contained her very slender wardrobe as far as the 
garden gate, but had hurried on without waiting 
for a good-bye with any of us. Nannie watched 
from the steps until he was out of sight, and then 
came in, and depositing her small effects in her 
usually grave, matronly style was at once settled 
and at home. She seemed wondrously content and 
happy in her own quiet way, following Agnes 
about the kitchen in the mornings — “learning to 
cook,” so she could do it for gramfer, she said — and 
in the afternoons continuing the “book-lessons” 
begun months before. 

It was good for Agnes to have her there. The 
child’s presence and questions were constantly 
attracting her thoughts and breaking in upon the 
long fits of musing that could only be painful, not 
useful. She helped to shorten the long days, and 
Agnes, recognizing it, began to dread giving her 

up- 


16 


242 


WE THREE. 


“ How do you suppose we shall do without you, 
Nannie, when your grandfather comes back ?” she 
asked. 

“I don’t know,” answered Nannie, slowly pon- 
dering the subject ; u I don’t know when he’ll come. 
When he finds it, though.” 

“ Finds what ?” 

“ Something somebody’s lost. I don’t know, 
only I guess maybe it’s a sheep.” 

“ Hardly that, Nannie,” said Agnes, smiling. 
“ He would scarcely go and stay away so long to 
help a friend find something of no more value than 
that.” 

“ Wouldn’t he? Isn’t it worth ever so much? 
Why, I thought — ” began the child, wonderingly, 
then hesitated, and appeared not quite able to put 
her thought into words. It suggested something 
else, however, for presently she looked up again : 
“ I know something nice to tell you some day ; I 
mean I’m goin to, ’cause I only know part of it 
now. Shall I tell you part? — 

‘There were ninety and nine that safely lay 
In the shelter of the fold, 

And one was out on the hills, away 
Far off from the gates of gold — 

Away on the mountains wild and bare, 

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.’ 

I don’t know the rest of it.” 

“ That’s the steady pain ; if we only could know 


WE THREE . 


243 


the rest of it!” murmured Agnes, her eyes filling 
with tears. 

Little Nan looked at her in grave questioning 
surprise. She did not understand what a dark pic- 
ture of one wanderer her words had seemed. 

“ Why I do mean to learn it all,” she said 
simply. “ I know the last of it now. 

1 And all through the mountains, thunder-riven, 

And up from the rocky steep, 

A glad cry rose to the gates of heaven, 

Rejoice ! I have found my sheep ! 

And angels echoed around the throne, 

Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own 1’ 

That’s the last of it; only I just don’t know what 
goes before.” 

Agnes stooped and kissed her. 

“ Dear Nannie ! If only we can be sure of that 
at last, it will matter very little what went before,” 
she said, but the words were for herself and not for 
the child. 

Whatever Uncle Zack’s business had been it had 
taken him far, or at least kept him long, for more 
than three weeks passed by without his reappear- 
ance or any word from him. Thanksgiving found 
little Nan still with us. It was a dreary Thanks- 
giving Day, with wailing wind and fitfully falling 
snow that might have made some bright fires and 
unbroken circles seem but the brighter and more 
cosy; but to many another home, as to ours, it 
must have looked as if old Mother Earth herself 


244 


WE THREE. 


had grown worn and weary, lonely for her lost chil- 
dren and sad for her vanished youth, and could no 
longer make even a pretence of keeping glad hol- 
iday. 

The hours would have been haunted even with- 
out the moaning voice of the wind, which, like an 
uneasy spirit, rushed to and fro as if searching for 
something lost. As it was, when the morning ser- 
vice had been gotten over with whatever inward 
faith and outward bravery we could command, and 
our dinner had been eaten, the afternoon, robbed of 
its usual avocations, grew oppressive. Long silences 
fell despite all efforts at cheerfulness and composure, 
and the storm without seemed filling the pauses 
with sobs and moans. 

Phil started up with a breath of relief when 
some one brought to the door a letter which had 
been left at the mill-office for him. 

u It must be from Uncle Zack, I think, ” he said, 
scanning the envelope. “ Do you suppose we shall 
learn when he is coming home, Nannie ?” 

He tore it open carelessly, and glanced at the 
name : 

“ Yes, it is from him. Now we shall see — ” 

But what he saw checked the sentence unfinished 
upon his lips; his face paled, and the hand that 
held the sheet trembled. He looked up as if about 
to speak, then suddenly placed the letter in my 
hand and left the room. 

u What is it ?” asked Agnes, white and shivering 


WE THREE. 


245 


with apprehension of she knew not what. Poor 
Agnes ! she seemed always expecting tidings of 
evil in those dreary months. 

Yet these were not ill tidings which Uncle Zack 
had chronicled. The words, not the style, can be 
copied. 

“ Dear Captain : 

“I’ve found that lost property at last, and a 
pretty precious piece I count it is — Mr. Rob him- 
self, alive and well, I was going to say, but lie’s 
toler’ble sick, that’s a fact, if I’m any judge. 
Howsomever, home’ll do a. sight for him, and I 
want to get him there, and out of this rattling New 
York. Can’t tell you anything to ’mount to any- 
thing on paper, but you can look for us home in a 
day or two after you get this.” 

Only those few lines in a large, stiff, awkward 
hand, with orthography as peculiar as its author ; 
yet nothing traced by an earthly pen ever looked 
so beautiful to me. Not that I had any distinct 
thought of either its oddity or beauty until after- 
ward, however. Just then thanksgiving, hope 
and fear surged in too wild a flood for even that 
criticism. 

“ Thought is deeper than all speech, 

Feeling deeper than all thought;” 

and there are no words in which to describe such 
an hour as that; we had none for each other at first. 


246 


WE THREE. 


But excitement and overwrought feeling found 
presently relief and safe expression in work that 
little Nannie unconsciously suggested : 

il I ? m glad gramfer’s going to bring Mr. Bob 
home; but I didn’t know he was lost, did you? 
I’m real sorry he is sick. Do you think he is so 
sick that he’ll have to lie in bed ?” 

“ I don’t know, dear ; I must get his room ready 
at once, and have a fire lighted there,” said Agnes, 
starting up. “ Strange I did not think of it be- 
fore ! Why, it is possible that they may come to- 
night, Win.” 

That possibility gave immediate employment, 
for there were many little arrangements to be made 
for the comfort of an invalid ; and though, when 
all was completed, our trip to the depdt proved in 
vain, yet the necessity for action had given calm- 
ness, and left less time for anxiety and appre- 
hension. 

“Zack will bring him as soon and as carefully 
as he can,” said Phil as he and I turned our steps 
homeward. “ Dear old Zack ! I might have 

<D 

guessed what business took him away; for I do 
not believe he has a relation on earth beside little 
Nan, and he has seemed so strongly attached to us 
from the first. We have never half repaid it.” 

“ And now we never can — not this,” I answered, 
wondering that I had not sooner penetrated the 
secret of his going when I remembered the wistful, 
earnest way in which he had watched Phil’s trou- 


WE THREE : 


247 


bled face. Even if Rob only came home to go 
away from us on a longer journey, from which 
there could be no return — and the thought that it 
would be so had been with me all the day — still 
our debt to Uncle Zack would be beyond com- 
putation. 

There was mercifully no long suspense of wait- 
ing between the letter and their arrival ; they came 
the next day. We knew Rob was ill, but with all 
our fancied realization of the fact we were shocked 
and startled when we saw him, so thin, worn and 
haggard he had grown, almost beyond recognition. 

Glad to be at home again he evidently was, but 
too utterly weak and weary for any expression of 
it, or to allow of any welcoming but that of quiet 
and enforced calmness. Lying in the familiar room 
once more, his eyes wandered about it as if noting 
every detail; then sought the faces around him, 
one by one, in an earnest, lingering gaze — those 
eyes that scarcely looked as if they could ever have 
been Rob’s bright laughing ones, so large and dark 
they had grown. They closed wearily when the 
survey was ended, but tears stole from under the 
closed lids and glistened on the lashes that threw 
such dark shadows on the pale cheeks. 

Zack watched him anxiously, and drew me away 
the first opportunity : 

“ What do you think of him, doctor? ’Mazin’ 
poorly, ain’t he? Seemed if there was a slow fever 
’bout him that had been a gainin’ and gainin’ this 


248 


WE THREE. 


long time, and he’d been a fighting it off, and going 
on and on. He’s been a leetle out of his head once 
or twice this last two days, leastwise some things 
he said sounded like it; but it just looked like he 
was fighting that off too, so as to know you all at 
home, and you see he did.” 

If he had fought such a battle it was over, for 
when his eyes opened again there was no gleam of 
recognition in them, and a fierce fever held un- 
disputed sway. Long wandering, exposure, change 
of climate, and most of all mental agony, had done 
their work, and with any other than his young, 
strong constitution he would have been in some 
far-off grave instead of his home. Some vague 
hints of what the hardship and suffering had been 
we caught from occasional incoherent utterances 
of his own ; but more we learned from Zack’s nar- 
rative of his search. 

“ I saw he wasn’t likely to come home of himself, 
and that it was breakin’ all your hearts, an’ would 
do worse than break his if he didn’t come,” said 
the old man. “ I started myself ’cause I thought 
I could hunt for him in all sorts of places and 
ways you wouldn’t be likely to know about. You 
see I’ve been considerable of a tramp myself, going 
here and there and everywhere, and that gives a 
fellow an advantage in business like this. ’Twas a 
long hunt, though : I’d get on a trail and lose it 
again, and I didn’t know but I’d have to give it 
up. By and by I went to Richmond. I’d a kind 


WE THREE. 


249 


of feeling he’d go south, though I didn’t know 
why. 

“ I’d been round there two or three days inquirin’ 
everywhere, and not learnin’ a thing, and I didn’t 
know where to go next, when, all of a sudden, I 
’spied him in the street. First I thought ’twas him, 
and then I thought ’twasn’t, he’d changed so ; but I 
follered him, and found him sure enough. He’d 
been away down in Texas with a drover, and they’d 
just come up with a lot of cattle and sold ’em ; and 
he didn’t know nor care much where he struck for 
next. He was pretty sick, too ; I knew that as quick 
as I saw him, and I got him off to where I was stop- 
pin’ as soon as I could. ’Twas a queer talk we had 
that night. You see, he’d been away off there where 
he hadn’t heard nothin’ ; and when I told him all 
about that trial — or whatever they called it — and 
how it was proved that the accident wasn’t any fault 
of his, why — I can’t tell you what ’twas like,” said 
Zack, winking hard under his shaggy eyebrows; 
“only don’t say any more to me about thanks and 
that kind of thing, like you did a while ago. I’ve 
been more’n paid, and you’d know it if you’d a 
seen it.” 

It seemed probable that no other earthly tidings 
would ever interest our poor Rob* for, as the days 
came and went, he grew more and more helpless 
under the power of disease, and no familiar face or 
voice was recognized in his delirium. Dr. Graylie 
was often by his side, watching the case most care- 


250 


WE THREE. 


fully, and though our old friend was slow to ex- 
press an unfavorable opinion, I saw that he shared 
my own almost utter hopelessness. Neighbors and 
acquaintances, moved by sympathy, and some per- 
haps a little remorseful for former harsh judg- 
ments, came with friendly inquiries and offers of 
assistance. Some of the railroad officers also called 
occasionally to ask after the sufferer and leave 
kindly messages, for generous, genial Rob had been 
a favorite among them, it appeared, in the days 
before his trouble. 

But he knew nothing of any care shown for him 
now ; he had been too long a wanderer, feeling that 
every man’s hand was against him. He could 
never know, I said sadly to myself, watching him 
as he moaned and murmured in his unconscious- 
ness. Phil, Agnes or I was always with him ; 
the grandmother passed long hours by his bedside ; 
and Uncle Zack — that had grown to be his name 
with us all — was daily at the house, now stealing 
carefully up to the door of the sick room, now 
attending to all sorts of out-door matters that he 
thought might be for our comfort or convenience. 

So the fever ran its course, and burned itself out 
at last. It seemed the fire of life had died with it, 
so feeble, almost imperceptible, a spark remained. 
All the day the sufferer lay in motionless stupor, 
with breath so faint that again and again we bent 
over the death-like face to note if there were 
breathing at all. Then at evening, just when we 


WE THREE. 


251 


were watching momently for that strange sleep to 
drop into a deeper, stiller one, the eyes suddenly 
unclosed and looked up with reason and recogni- 
tion in their glance. In a moment the lids drooped 
heavily again, but the breathing grew stronger, the 
slumber more natural, and life slowly struggled 
back to its wellnigh lost dominion. 

“Well, wonders will never cease,” said Doctor 
Graylie, looking down upon him and pretending 
to wipe his spectacles that he might have an op- 
portunity to wipe his eyes also. “Yesterday I 
wouldn’t have given a straw for the poor fellow’s 
chance for life, but to-night there is everything in 
his favor.” 

The night passed, and Christmas morning came 
with snow lying white and pure over everything, 
draping the trees and hiding the rough and frozen 
ground — a very mantle of peace — and then the sun 
came up and gave it the sparkle and glow of joy as 
well. A joyous world it was, our world, for we 
knew that our Christmas gift had been given us — 
the most precious we could know, save only that 
one by which this and all other blessings come to 
us, God’s own “ unspeakable gift.” 

Slow Rob’s recovery necessarily was, but it was 
steady and sure. Gradually strength returned to 
talk with us again, and to notice and be soothed 
by all the love and care lavished upon him. It 
did bring comfort and rest, his quiet and patience 
through all the long convalescence showed that; 


252 


WE THREE. 


and though his eyes were sad when memory and 
reason came back to them, they were not despairing. 
Despite all that had passed, the old moods of gloom 
did not cloud them. It was ail inexpressible relief, 
and yet I wondered at it. I had feared stormy fits 
of remorse and bursts of hopeless agony. 

“ Rob, you are the perfection of an invalid. I 
believe you almost enjoy being one,” said Agnes, 
playfully, one day. 

u It is rest, and I am too weak yet to even wish 
for anything more,” he answered, slowly. “ Agnes, 
you cannot know what rest — only rest — means to 
me.” 

“ A great deal ; it must, of course, after all the 
pain and delirium of that dreadful fever,” she said, 
quickly, anxious to ignore any other meaning that 
his words might hold. 

11 And the worse pain and more horrible visions 
that came before,” he added. “ Oh, Agnes, there 
were so many days and nights that I could not for 
a moment close my eyes without seeing that dreary 
stretch of track, those wrecked and broken cars 
and the white, ghastly faces.” 

It was the first time since his return that the 
dreaded subject had been even alluded to, and 
Agnes, who had so unintentionally suggested it, 
was silent and troubled. But in a moment Rob 
spoke again more calmly : 

“ I think I should have gone wild but for one 
little sentence — ‘ The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, 


WE THREE. 


253 


cleanseth us from all sin/ I believed that ; I 
knew it was true, and it was like a point of solid 
rock where everything else was whirling and 
sinking. I should have gone down utterly but for 
that.” 

“So should we all,” Agnes replied, her voice 
tremulous with deep feeling despite her utmost 
efforts to steady it. “ But that one heavy burden 
of guilt was not yours, and you did not know it 
until Zack told you ? Poor Bob !” 

“ No ; I cannot think it makes much difference 
in His sight, though,” said Bob, reverently. “ It 
was only his mercy to me, and not mine to myself 
or to others, that kept my hands from being blood- 
stained, Agnes; for that night I did not know. 
But it will seem different to men, and it gives me 
another chance for life. God has given me another 
chance.” 

“ And he has given you back to us all. Oh, Bob, 
you can never know how we missed and searched 
for you.” 

“As much as if I were worth finding! Zack 
told me about it.” 

“ Zack could not tell you all,” said Phil, who, 
coming into the room, had heard Agnes’ last words 
and Bob’s reply. 

“ No ; you need not try to do it, either,” Bob 
answered, with a faint smile, for Phil’s anxious care 
and remorseful tenderness had indeed told their 
own story. 


254 


WE THREE. 


Nevertheless, I think Phil put some of it into 
words in the half hour afterward when he and 
Rob were alone together. But when Agnes entered 
the room again, weary invalid and tired watcher 
had fallen asleep with hand clasping hand. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HIL took up his work again with a joyous 
heart. Rob’s words expressed his feeling 
also — that God had given him another 
chance ; and not all the energy and hurry 
of his busy life would ever be able to crowd 
out the newly-learned tenderness for those who 
were wandering — the intense desire to help those 
who had gone astray. It is oftenest some Geth- 
semane of our own that teaches us the value our 
Master sets upon souls and gives to us some faint 
share of his longing for their safety. “Truth’s 
supreme revelations come in sorrow to men.” 

Old Zack watched his “ cap’n ” contentedly. The 
thanks he shrank from hearing there was little 
need to speak ; they could not be put into words, 
indeed. But Phil kept close watch over that little 
home in the edge of the village, and it was sup- 
plied with countless comforts that it had never 
known before. And though Uncle Zack only gave 
away the more lavishly because of all he received, 
that power was in itself a luxury to him, and one 
that he prized more than any other. 

Little Nan came to us one day; and tiptoeing 
softly up stairs to Rob’s sick room, where Agnes 

255 



256 


WE THREE. 


was sitting, she stopped just inside the door with a 
serious question in her eye. 

“ Well, Nannie?” 

u Miss Agnes, do you guess I read well enough 
to begin to teach some other little girl that don’t 
know her letters at all? and couldn’t I rip out one 
or two of my patchworks and let her do ’em over, 
so she could learn to sew ?” 

“ I don’t know, dear, who it is that needs teach- 
ing ; and what made you think of it ?” asked Ag- 
nes, smiling at the grave little face. 

“ Why, rich folks ought to help poor folks, you 
know, and we’re real rich now, gramfer and me. 
We’ve got a carpet and two pictures and a bran- 
new rocking-chair, and we’re going to have fried 
chicken for supper,” said Nannie, impressively. 
“ There is a little girl goes by our house for water, 
and she said she did wish she could read out of that 
book with the pictures in it that Mr. Rob gave 
me.” 

“ Yes, I think you might try to teach her. It 
will help you to remember what you have learned ; 
and if the lessons grow too hard, you can bring her 
to me sometimes,” said Agnes, amused, but touched 
also, by the child’s simple earnestness. 

“ Well,” replied Nannie, with quiet satisfaction. 

"I’m glad you are growing so rich, Nannie,” 
said Rob, watching her. “ And so you think every 
new thing that is given to us ought to make us do 
more for others ?” 


WE THREE . 


257 


“Don’t yon?” asked the little one, wonderingly. 
“Why, gramfer said every good thing God sent us 
had a message with it — Pass it along ; and it didn’t 
mean just to give away the new rocking-chair and 
things, but to do something to make other folks 
glad the way that did us.” 

Rob smiled and did not answer; but he did not 
forget, and Uncle Zack’s simple “ Pass it along ” 
became the watchword that prompted many a thank- 
offering in our after-years. 

“ I think it might be doing some people good if 
you should sit here and sing to me a little while,” 
said Rob, presently. 

Doing anything that would please “ Mr. Rob ” 
quite suited Nannie, and she curled up contentedly 
in a great chair by his side and sang fragments of 
hymns and Sunday-school music as her own fancy 
suggested — grand old “ Rock of Ages,” followed 
by the child-like 

“ Jesus loves me, this I know, 

For the Bible tells me so.” 

Suddenly she paused and turned to Agnes : 

“I’ve learned more about that lost sheep. Don’t 
you know I only knew the first and last verses? 
But I’ve learned what was between now.” 

“ So have I,” said Agnes, with a quick thrill of 
thankfulness as she remembered the dreary day on 
which Nannie’s bit of a poem had held out its hope 
of comfort. 

IT 


258 


WE THREE. 


“ Have you ?” Nannie looked disappointed. “ Is 
it just like mine? — 

‘ But none of the ransomed ever knew 
How deep were the waters crossed, 

Or how dark the night that the Lord passed through 
Ere he found his sheep that was lost. 

Out in the desert he heard it cry, 

Sick and helpless, and ready to die.’ ” 

“ Ah, no, darling ! I do not know all that,” said 
Agnes, reverently. 

And Rob added : 

“ Only heaven can teach it. Agnes, I used to 
think that verse in Revelation about those before 
the throne who had 1 come up out of great tribu- 
lation 9 meant only the martyrs who had died for 
his name. I have learned better since then. No 
enemy’s fagots can kindle such fires of suffering 
as our own sins do.” 

When Rob had so far recovered as to ride for a 
short distance occasionally in the clear, crisp 
morning air, there came one day a visitor — Mr. 
Keene, from the railroad-office. He was very 
genial and urbane, feeling evidently that the com- 
pany of which he was a member owed the young 
engineer some reparation, and also quite as evi- 
dently he was very desirous of avoiding all un- 
pleasant topics. He chatted pleasantly on various 
subjects, and introduced his real errand as merely 
incidental : 


WE THREE. 


259 


“Yon are able to be out again, I see. That is 
right; get well as fast as you can, for we are need- 
ing you. There is a conductor’s place ready, or 
will be as soon as you are ready to take it.” 

Rob looked up, surprised and gratified : 

“ Thank you ! You are very kind — ” 

But Mr. Keene interrupted him : 

“ Seems somewhat like hurrying a man up, 
doesn’t it? You see, Miss Howland,” turning to 
Agnes, “we railroad people live in such a rush 
that we can scarcely afford any one time to be sick.” 

“ But I did not leave my place because of illness, 
you know,” said Rob, frankly. 

“ Ah ! well, no, not exactly.” Mr. Keene hes- 
itated a moment, as if not quite knowing how to 
deal with this truth, so simply stated. “ It was be- 
cause of a mistake — a very unfortunate mistake; 
and I don’t know but it was your wisest course to 
go away for a while until matters cleared up and 
people regained possession of their senses and judg- 
ment. Popular feeling is very likely to be unjust 
for a time. Of course it is hard to bear, but it is 
sure to come right in the end.” 

“But, Mr. Keene, I was not quite myself that 
night,” persisted Rob, with determined honesty. 
“ I could not tell afterward whether I saw the 
signal or not.” 

“ Humph ! Do you think so ?” Mr. Keene 
looked a little startled at first, then laughed good- 
naturedly. “But I’ll warrant that just before the 


260 


WE THREE . 


accident occurred you could have told that you 
saw the signal, and would have been willing to 
take your oath to that effect, too. Afterward, with 
all the confusion and horror — it was horrible and 
enough to bewilder any one — it was no great 
wonder that you could not recall very clearly.” 
Mr. Keene grew serious enough at last. After a 
moment he added, “ We should not be so insane 
as to risk our property and other people’s lives 
with you if we had any reason to consider you un- 
worthy of the trust. But that accident was clearly 
no fault of yours ; and if there was any slight care- 
lessness on your part that night — I’ve only your 
word for supposing such a thing — I presume that 
bit of experience will only make you the more 
scrupulously careful for all time to come.” 

“ Yes ; that much I think you may be sure of, 
sir,” said Bob, slowly. 

“ Well, at any rate, I’d quite as lief risk my neck 
with you as any man I know of on the road,” ob- 
served Mr. Keene, laughing again ; and with an- 
other “ Get well as expeditiously as possible,” he 
took his leave. 

“ Corporations may not have souls,” said Bob, 
looking after him gratefully, “ but that part of one 
has a heart.” 

“And you will go back?” questioned Agnes. 
“ Do you want to do it ?” 

“ It is all I am fitted for — all I really know how 
to do. I do not dislike it, either; and as I told 


WE THREE. 


261 


you once before, you know, it is honest and useful.” 
He paused a moment, studying Agnes’ thoughtful 
face, then suddenly asked, “ You are not afraid to 
have me go ?” 

“No; I think not.” She hesitated a little. 
“ It is dangerous, but all employments have their 
own peculiar dangers, and accidents are not more 
common — ” 

“ I did not mean that, Agnes — not accidents, but 
temptations. Do you fear to have me go ?” 

She had suspected his meaning before, but it was 
not an easy question to answer, and he paused but 
a moment : 

“I think I have learned, Agnes, that 1 They 
which live should not henceforth live unto them- 
selves, but unto Him which died for them, and rose 
again.’ My life henceforth is His whose blood 
cleanseth from all sin.” 

Her answer was to herself and not to him, her 
eyes filling with quick tears of penitence and grat- 
itude : “ ‘ O thou of little faith ! wherefore didst 
thou doubt ?’ ” 

“ Intoxicating liquor I shall never touch again,” 
said Rob, slowly. “ I have no strong desire for it, 
no craving appetite that must be overcome; and 
though that leaves me less excuse for the past, it is 
certainly a blessing now.” 

The thought of work awaiting him seemed to 
act as an incentive to recovery. Health and 
strength returned more rapidly, and in a few weeks 


262 


WE THREE. 


Rob was able to accept the offered position. It 
looked to careless eves as if the great chasm of 
grief and pain that had so suddenly opened in our 
pathway had closed again and left no sign. But 
Rob was not the same. Genial and generous as of 
old he was, but with an underlying strength now, 
a steadfastness of purpose, that was like a rock 
under gleaming, sparkling water. Frank and out- 
spoken he was too, as it was like him to be, con- 
cerning the new principles that guided him. 

“ Yes,” said Uncle Zack, commenting upon that 
fact one day — “yes, different folks has different 
ways, and it’s easier for some to speak of what 
they really feel than ’tis for others ; Fll allow that. 
But when anybody speaks of owning their Lord as 
takin’ up a cross, why I haven’t much patience 
with ’em, whether it’s in meeting or anywhere else 
I hear it — ’clare I hain’t ! Who ever heard of one 
of these furrin ministers representing his king in 
that style, or anybody talking so about their nearest 
friend ? If somebody should talk to you about it’s 
being a cross for you to own your sister, you’d 
knock him over pretty quick, I reckon ; and some- 
times I ’most think it would be tol’able good treat- 
ment in t’other case.” 

“‘Ye are my witnesses,”’ said grandmother, 
earnestly. 

“ Yes’m, that’s it — that’s just it !” said the old 
man, turning his rugged face, all aglow with its 
earnestness, toward her. “ That’s just what we’re 


WE THREE. 


263 


for. There’s a command about not bearin'* false 
witness against our neighbors, but I wonder if there 
ain’t such a thing as bearin’ false witness against 
our Lord ? When we talk about taking up a 
cross till we make folks think his service ain’t an 
honor and a joy, but something to be ashamed of, 
what kind of testimony is that, I’d like to know ? 
Or when we fret over our little trials till we seem 
to be telling all the world that the Comforter has 
no power to help us? or when we grow so narrow 
and selfish that our actions say his religion don’t 
teach us any love to our neighbors ? It’s bearin’ 
false witness, all of it. I tell you, ma’am, I some- 
times think what we Christians need most is a little 
more common sense in our Christianity.” 

Perhaps he held that last thought still more 
strongly before the evening was over, for Mrs. Stet- 
son came in — ostensibly for a recipe from Agnes; 
but, that obtained, she lingered to talk : 

“ Well, how comfortable you do all seem here, 
and everything ! I can’t help thinking — and it all 
turns out so well, as a body may say, though you 
wouldn’t have thought it ; but it has.” 

“ Yes, we are comfortable,” Agnes answered, 
quietly, a something in her voice that reminded 
me of an old question : “ When He giveth quiet- 
ness, who then can make trouble?” 

“ And the place all looks as natural and home- 
like — only prettier — the new veranda, and every- 
thing — and just as homelike. It makes me think — 


264 


WE THREE. 


it really does — about old times, and everything. I 
remember just as well — and your Uncle Mark, 
poor dear ! And the way you was all left ! It 
used to seem — well, sometimes I didn’t know.” 

“ More times we don’t know, a good many of 
us, ma’am,” said Uncle Zack, gravely, but with a 
twinkle in his eye, as she paused and tossed her 
hand about as if to scatter the words she had last 
spoken. 

“ That’s so ; it really is,” pursued Mrs. Stetson, 
energetically. “ Why, they were left just boys, as 
you may say — only Agnes, she wasn’t — and none 
of ’em grown up — only their grandmother, of 
course — I mean their grandmother too — not that 
any of ’em was so very little. To be sure, 
a body couldn’t tell — how could they ? And now 
it has turned out so — comfortable — and everything 
kind of come along so — so — well, in the nick of 
time, as a body may say — ” 

“ And what other time should it come in ?” ques- 
tioned Zack, a little uneasy at that phrase. “ Why, 
ma’am, you don’t think Providence is like a rail- 
way train that may fail to make connections at the 
right points, do you ?” 

“ Well, no, I don’t — of course I don’t, though I 
didn’t think — but there! It might strike a body 
so, mightn’t it ?” said Mrs. Stetson, brightening at 
a new idea. “ But then things have turned out — 
well, different, haven’t they, now, Agnes, my 
dear ?” 


WE THREE. 


265 


“ Different from what we might have expected ? 
I suppose so — in some things — if one had much 
reason for any expectation about it,” replied Agnes, 
slowly. “ But we can scarcely plan out any life, 
even our own, with much probability that every- 
thing will really be according to our planning.” 

“But then a body can’t help it — they really 
can’t — and kind of watching for it to come true — • 
though, to be sure, sometimes you’re glad and some- 
times you’re sorry. ’Specially if it’s your own, as 
a body may say. Why, there! it’s just nature.” 

“ Natur’, but not grace,” interposed Zack. 
“There’s a good many folks that’s willing to fol- 
low the leadings of Providence by going ahead 
and showing the way.” 

“And Rob back on the railroad, too — and a 
better place — and all — and he back there !” Mrs. 
Stetson had at last reached the topic she really 
wished to talk on. “Well, I say — and so did 
husband — he’s that good-hearted, husband is ; and 
we really couldn’t help it. And did he ask them — 
or, that is — how ?” 

“ They came for him,” said Agnes, briefly. 

“ Did they, now ? Well, really ! And it seemed 
one time as if— but then a body can’t tell. I am 
glad, and I think you are — blest.” 

That was sincere, at least, and Agnes answered, 
with a half-smile, 

“ I think so, too.” 

If Mrs. Stetson could only have let the blessing 


266 


WE THREE. 


rest, like the sacred thing it was, untouched by 
stranger hands ! 

“ But I didn’t think it would be — though, to be 
sure, I hoped — I did, my dear — having liked 
Robert so. But then the ones he went with, and 
all — and what folks said ; and then all that miser- 
ableness — even if ’twas the other man, which seems 
like a warning. After he didn’t come back, too, 
why, I thought — ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, yes,” interposed Zack, anxious to 
stop the flood of reminiscences. “I s’pose a good 
many folks had a good many thoughts ’bout that 
as well as ’bout everything else; but there’s one 
thing it’s safe to drop down on and rest: f My 
thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your 
ways my ways, saith the Lord.’ And our own 
don’t seem to matter much, you see, when the 
Lord’s has been worked out.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Stetson, rising to depart, and 
speaking to Agnes in a whisper that was perfectly 
audible to every one else in the room, “ when I see 
how well everything has turned out, I can’t help — 
I can’t, nor husband, either, and I told him so — 
just rejoicing that we wrote that letter. Such an 
influence as it’s had — and everything — and him 
so — so — changed like — which mebby it wouldn’t 
have been but for that. And it’s such a privilege 
to do good ! And I hope it’ll be — that is — a lesson 
— to all of us.” 

Agnes went with her to the door, and came back 


WE THREE. 267 

with a face whose varying expression Phil watched 
with an odd smile as she stood in the firelight : 

“ Well, Agnes?” 

“It does seem strange that people can be — ” 
Agnes began, then suddenly paused, and after a 
moment smiled and added, “It doesn’t matter. 
‘ Charity never faileth.’ ” 

“ No,” said Zack, slowly. “ ‘ He maketh the 
wrath of man to praise him •/ and o, I do s’pose, 
their blunders too. Leastways, none of ’em can 
stop his plans, and that’s consolin’, too, when we 
think of all our own and other folks’ blunders. But 
the way we help along good works mostly makes me 
think of how little Nan used to sew for me two or 
three years ago — -jest settin’ up as peart and con- 
tented, an’ thinkin’ she was doin’ great things, 
while she was only wrigglin’ away with a pin that 
had a head so big she couldn’t get it through the 
cloth, an’ it would have done no good if she had.” 

“ But the will to help was there — you counted 
that,” said Phil; “and so does our Father in 
heaven — even in Mrs. Stetson’s blundering work 
also.” 

Our story ends here, for the five years that have 
passed since then have been quiet, peaceful ones 
such as make up the happiness of our lives, but 
leave little to record. The grandmother’s busy 
days are done ; she is almost through now, and is 
only waiting — a sweet and restful waiting — in “ the 


268 


WE THREE. 


chamber that is called Peace/’ whose windows open 
toward the golden city. 

Rob still holds his place on the railroad, and 
nightly, as his train with its gleaming lights goes 
flashing by, we know that one alert, vigilant and 
faithful is there, keen, steady eyes and a brave, true 
heart, keeping watch and ward faithfully, “ as unto 
the Lord and not unto men.” He is the only one 
of the three in the old home now, though our 
homes, Phil’s and mine, are near. Zack and Nan- 
nie live there, however. Rob’s frequent absences 
made this advisable. He was not willing that 
grandmother and Agnes should be left alone, and 
Uncle Zack had long taken so much charge of the 
place, and with Nannie grown so near to us all, 
that the arrangement seemed pleasant and natural. 
Perhaps the old man appreciates love and a real 
home all the more for his long years of loneliness 
and wandering. At least he is wondrously busy 
and content, and finds a world of comfort in “ look- 
ing after his young folks,” as he phrases it ; and he 
also finds them work to do in looking after others. 

Nannie is growing up a slender, beautiful girl ; 
a grave and thoughtful one she always was, with 
eyes too clear and true to be dazzled by any shams 
or vanities. The books and music she so dearly 
loves we have been well able to provide for her — 
Rob, indeed, has much of his old lavishness where 
she is concerned — and secretly we are all very 
proud of Nannie. 


WE THREE. 


269 


Phil is still at the iron-mills, and I am only a 
village doctor. The old boyish dreams of wealth 
and fame have not been realized, nor is it probable 
that they ever will be. I smile as I remember 
them, for our sole thought of a successful life was 
a happy, care-free one for ourselves ; and we have 
long ago learned that success, as He counts it who 
will judge our lives at last, is a much deeper, grander 
thing than ease or enjoyment; it means far more 
than that. Some one has written that “ the most 
we can possibly get from life is discipline for our- 
selves and helpfulness for others,” and by that test 
the round of homely duties, the busy days and 
weary nights are not failures. 

We had all gathered at the old home last 
Christmas, and after dinner Phil, Rob and I left 
the ladies in merry chat and wandered out to the 
old shed. Something — the familiar wood-pile, the 
battered posts, the long stretch of snow or the sun 
sinking redly in the west — called to mind that 
other evening in the long ago when, after Uncle 
Mark’s death, we had stood there as boys, ques- 
tioning, wishing and planning so much. The 
memory called forth a long talk of all the years 
had wrought and brought, of what we had gained 
and what we had missed. 

“ After all, we have been able to take care of 
grandmother and Agnes, we three,” said Phil, 
laughingly, at last, recalling the old words. 

“ I think,” said Rob, thoughtfully, “ that we 


270 


WE THREE. 


were like those other three who were cast into the 
fiery furnace. In the heat of the trial there ap- 
peared another with us, whose form was like the 
Son of God, and because of him we were brought 
safely through all.” 

Even so. The story of his people of old is ever 
the story of his people still : 

“ He was their Saviour. In all their afflictions 
he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved 
them : in his love and in his pity he redeemed 
them, and he bare them, and carried them all the 
days of old.” 

And one precious promise holds all that we need 
to know of the future : 

“For this God is our God for ever and ever; 
he will be our guide even unto death.” 


THE END. 























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